Let go, Let God

Change. It’s worrisome. Exhilarating. Hard. I stand on the edge looking into the unknown. Am I really supposed to do this? I’m not sure. What if…?

Recently, I learned about the South American Condor. It is a huge bird with a wingspan of over ten feet. Its size makes it an awkward flier. However, condors routinely launch themselves from high cliffs and catch invisible air currents, gliding sometimes for hours as they search for food. In other words, they trust.

In uncertain times, it is fitting to stop and take our bearings. What are we doing anyway? Why? How can we adapt?

I have come to feel that God’s plan for me is on a much larger scale than I had assumed. Paul comments in 1 Corinthians 1:27 that “God hath chosen the weak things of the world.” That would be me. I’m just an ordinary person, doing ordinary things, right? But no, “…out of weakness [His children are] made strong…” (Hebrews 11:34). He wants me to do extraordinary things. Grow. Learn. Take flight.

Timothy reminds us, “God hath not given us the spirit of fear” (2 Timothy 1:7). What if Mother Teresa said to God, “What? You want me to go out to poverty-stricken areas and help people? I don’t know anyone there. I might get sick! I might get lost. It’s frightening! Ask me to do something easier.” But she didn’t. Mother Teresa acted in obedience, even joy. She went to people she didn’t know. She smiled instead of worried. She did something hard. Her example still inspires, even after her death.

But what if I don’t know how to do what He wants me to do? I’ll just muck it up, right? Should I even try? I could curl back away from the edge, knotted in indecision. But I, like the condors, am hungry. I want to grow. So I kick off into the unknown, knowing I’ll make mistakes.

Parenting has been that way for me. Meaningful. Tough. I can certainly make a mess of things. Yet, I have been nurtured in my nurturing. In my sincere, prayerful efforts, I have been given insight along the way—and my children, sensing my love for them, have been willing to forgive me. We have both been uplifted in the process.

Change brings challenges and opportunities. The story is that Sir Isaac Newton was forced to leave his beloved university and return home due to the plague epidemic. There, in an apple orchard, Newton made his observations and developed his theory of gravity. Would he have made these observations at school? Hard to say, but the time that Newton was home, making observations, has been considered to be one of the most productive of his life.

Taking that leap of faith to follow Divine guidance—to move to a new place, repent, learn a language, get married (another new language!), or meet your next-door neighbor—can be daunting. Still, we cannot soar if we will not jump. And we are meant to soar.

A couple of years ago, I was invited to direct a large musical presentation that included many soloists. Every one of the soloists, though amateur, was capable and skilled. I had soloed in this venue in the past, so I knew the challenges and nerves involved. However, as director, I noticed that despite their actual ability, singers wrestled with apprehension. I knew they could do it, but that didn’t matter. They had to know. Conquering their fears took faith.

The exciting thing about faith is it allows us to fly. I remain earthbound until I vault out into the waiting air currents. My voice cannot float free unless I open my mouth. Leaning unto my own understanding (Proverbs 3:5) keeps me fettered. Trusting gives me wings. I have no idea to what heights He will carry me.

That is—until I get distracted. I imagine that occasionally a condor may get distracted as he takes his stride into the air. It likely never ends well—the resulting crash might even take the bird’s life. For people, using a cell-phone while driving can have similar consequences. I suspect that distraction can threaten my spiritual health, too. I love dreaming about the great things I will do as I wait for my movie to start. I remember the things I can do to help my family or friends—and I’ll get to them as soon as I finish checking my email. I skip prayer when my morning gets a little disrupted. I forget to ask forgiveness, take a moment to thank, dry a child’s tear. I’m too busy doing something irrelevant. And the scary thing: I don’t even realize I’m doing it.

Breaking out of my routine interrupts my narcissism. Perhaps that’s why change brings with it so many opportunities. I see things differently. I cannot march in place—I must lift off into faith. The Psalmist reminds us, “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee” (Psalms 56:3), and Isaiah later reassures us, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles” (Isaiah 40:31).

I will never know unless I let go. I must leave my doubts and distractions and leap. Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-Nego trusted and were delivered. So were Ruth and Moses, Elijah and Daniel, my mother and my sister. And so you.

Kristin Fry is a mother, grandmother, music maker and happy resident of this beautiful valley. She likes long conversations, children’s laughter, and strawberries, and is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.