A Year of Softening

At the start of this past year, God gave me the word “soften” as a goal for 2020. Mercy is not my strong point. This truth has been confirmed by literally every spiritual gifting evaluation I’ve completed throughout the years, where mercy consistently ranked as my lowest score. So I immediately assumed God wanted to grow compassion in my heart. And while it is true that I continue to need to develop a softer stance toward others, it turns out this was not Father’s particular focus for me. At least not this year.

I tend to have a strong determination (aka stubborn streak) when life presses against me. Instead of melding to meet my circumstances, I dig in and fortify my position. I harden myself and press against the difficulties instead of softening and pressing into Father. Soften was my wake-up call to cease grasping for control over situations and release things into God’s care. Instead of hardening my stance against them, I felt Father encouraging me to soften to the point of becoming fluid when facing obstacles. He just had to go and add that last part in there. 

Fluid, meaning no resistance 

Fluid, as in becoming like liquid that can conform and soak into things 

Fluid, as in melting into His presence instead of fortifying myself in my own strength to face the onslaught of changes He saw coming. 

And as we all can attest, boy, were there changes in 2020! 

For those who know me well, you know that I flourish in organizing — things, life, people — you name it. If it can be neatly categorized and controlled, I’m all for it. I disdain surprises, abhor clutter and disarray, and become exasperated with too many interruptions to my carefully-planned day. Enter 2020 — the year from, well, not exactly heaven. 

The year 2020 afforded lots of opportunities to implement my word of the year. God used things beyond my control (Seriously, did He have to throw in a global pandemic?) to soften my resistant heart. Instead of forcing my way through life, on numerous occasions, I had to resolve myself to “can’t” instead of “I will conquer this!” 

The whole covid uproar limited my movements, upset my well-laid plans, and placed several relationships in a holding pattern beyond my physical reach. Becoming flexible and fluid became necessary with things as simple as a grocery run to meeting with friends to planning my daughter’s wedding. Yes, we were one of those families who had to rearrange a marriage celebration at the last minute to adapt to the ever-fluctuating gathering recommendations. My catering job took a twist as many events were canceled or held to ridiculous criteria. And on a personal level, I experienced a broken finger and broken ribs (thankfully, at separate times). These physical restrictions forced me to slow down and realize some limitations in my healing process. 

 Life, as usual, was anything but that. 

I now look back and almost smile that the end of the year found me facing it with broken ribs. Although I had been plodding my way toward softening for the first eleven months of the year, apparently, I still had much to learn. For about four weeks (which should have been limited to maybe three if I was not such a slow learner), I was forced to slow down. Waaaaaay down. 

Though the entire year had been a reminder to flex and release my bull-headedness, I yet again allowed unmet challenges to get the best of me. About two and a half weeks into the broken ribs fiasco, I could not dismiss the notion that a scattered pile of hay needed some order. Remember my penchant for organizing things? It extends even to our horses’ pasture. 

One morning, I offhandedly mentioned the disarray of hay to my husband. To which he strongly advised me against using a pitchfork to gather it. Apparently, he knows me well. He suggested I let someone else do it, just this once. Since I had broken ribs, it seemed like a no-brainer, right? Unless, of course, you are me. 

I never set out to intentionally disregard my husband’s sage directive. Until the snow began falling in earnest, and I considered how the hay would get covered and make it harder for our horses to find and digest. So I slipped on my coveralls and headed toward the pasture. 

Along the way, I realized there was a garden rake in the shed. Maybe that would be easier to use to gather the hay than a pitchfork would. I mean, I would be pulling it along the ground instead of stabbing and lifting it. That shouldn’t irritate my ribs too much. Right? (Coincidentally, I had used similar rationale a few days before when I attempted to run the last quarter-mile of my four-mile walk. I think I made it about twenty paces before the jarring of my midsection got the best of me.) 

So with a sense of determination (there’s that word again) and a heavy dose of what some might call stupidity, I cautiously climbed the fence. I even found myself reasoning I was not altogether disregarding my husband’s warning, justifying this by mentally noting the use of a rake instead of a pitchfork. Don’t laugh. Stupidity can seem logical in the moment. 

I slowly raked small piles of hay, leaving them dotted about the paddock instead of left scattered for bedding leveled by the horses’ hooves. It wasn’t bad at all. I barely noticed a gentle tug on my midsection a time or two. Feeling accomplished, I headed back indoors to prepare dinner for my soon-to-be-arriving-home-from-work husband. 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes of inactivity before I experienced the repercussions of my mistake. The discomfort that had been masked by my movements while outdoors started to throb, then beat a little harder until it was drumming against my ribcage. Dinner turned into carry-out pizza instead of a home-cooked meal as I sheepishly admitted to my husband that, “I may have disregarded your advice.” 

He shook his head while stating the obvious, “You moved that hay, didn’t you?” 

I emphasized that I had used a rake instead of a pitchfork. (A gal can get hung up on details.) And it wasn’t that bad until it was. And he was right. And I should have listened to him. And now I hurt. And was pizza okay for dinner? 

Sounds typical of monologues I sometimes find myself having with Father. 

I know You told me not to do that. It would only bring me pain. But I reasoned away my disobedience. I sidestepped Your directive, and now it hurts.

It’s not that I did what You warned against, exactly. 

I mean, I didn’t use a pitchfork.

I tried to be careful. 

It didn’t really hurt while I was doing it.

I thought I would be okay.

But You knew all along, didn’t You? You knew there would be a price to pay for my actions. You knew I would try to justify my error. You were aware of the painful consequences in the end as my impatience and willfulness would get the best of me. And You knew my choices would affect You, too. They always do. 

Much like my husband had to settle for a take-out pizza rather than a home-cooked meal, I often make God settle for less than my best. My waywardness and stubborn defiance can keep me from using the gifts He has given to full advantage. When I allow other things to take my strength, I soon find myself with little left for His purposes.

With the dawn of a New Year, I’m thankful to say I face the coming days with mostly-healed ribs. And a soft(-er) heart. I still have much to learn about surrender and fluidity. I still ache from some of my poor choices. But even in my setbacks, I’m looking to Father more quickly than before. While my raking hay experience was not a stellar moment for me, it was a valuable lesson. One I hope to carry with me into this next year. And apply the next time I start to dig in when God asks me to yield to His ways instead of mine.

Hopefully, I will ditch the pitchfork (and the rake mentality) as I allow Father to keep me patient and patiently keep me.

Softened.

Fluid.

And more like Him with each passing day. 

I’ve no idea what lies in store this year, but I want to trust Father more as I move forward into it. 

And as I trust His heart, I pray He can trust mine, too. 

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FOR REFLECTION

My tendency to fortify/intervene/rescue/control gets me into trouble, repeatedly. I spread myself too thin, attempting to run interference for myself and everyone else, then become overwhelmed in the process. Can you relate? If so, how? 

God invites me to soften and lean into Him instead of pressing through situations in my own wisdom and strength. Is He speaking to you to do the same? What steps can you take toward surrendering to Him more fully today? 

Has God given you a particular word or Scripture verse to focus on for the year ahead? If so, please share about it in the comments section of this blog. If not, I encourage you to ask Father about it. I have found this to be a way of drawing me closer to Jesus and His will for my life. I think you may find it helpful, too.