I quit something recently. In fact, I quit two things.
And these weren’t just two small things. They were two ginormous things that I had been doing for umpteen years. Umpteen.
First of all, I loathe quitting.
I was that mom who never allowed my children to quit something they had committed to (like a sports season, those art lessons, their service project).
I am also a human German Shepherd, loyalty coursing through my veins. Once something or someone makes its way into my heart and my life, I’m holding on tight.
I loathe quitting.
But quit I did. Q-U-I-T.
And these weren’t just two unimportant things. They were highly meaningful things that I had poured my heart into. My time into. Things that had breathed life into me.
Second of all, I needed to quit.
Even saying that out loud and penning it for the world to see makes my stomach a little bit swirly.
But I needed to take a big giant step outside my never-quit comfort zone and pull the quit trigger.
I needed to quit.
For my integrity. Something even more important to me than my loyalty.
Because the time had come.
To put to death what was no longer giving me life (I’m still struggling writing that).
So in one week, I wrote some of the most difficult emails and made some of the hardest phone calls telling some of my most favorite people in the whole world that I quit. I was done.
And these two ginormous and highly meaningful things ended just like that. Just like that.
Third of all, it was awful.
I cried. I cried more. I talked to friends. I met with a counselor. I told God how sad I was. And mad. And that I couldn’t believe this was happening and that I was doing this.
I also reminded myself over and over and over again that making the right decision does not mean it’s easy. Or happy. It often is not.
It was awful.
It still is.
Especially now that the newness has worn off and I am left with the empty space that those two ginormous and highly meaningful things filled to the brim.
I still cry. I still talk to friends about it.
I tell God that I’m never going to quit Him. And that I’m incredibly grateful that He never ever ever ever ever is going to quit me. We belong to each other no matter what else stops or ends or is over.
Last of all, it brought me space. And room.
Space for quiet. Room to listen to the whispers from the heart of God.
Space for what might breathe life into me. And what I might breathe life into.
Room for my next right things, what I might miss if I stay my German Shepherd self.
It brought me space. And room.
To breathe (as my online yoga instructor says, “lots of love in and lots of love out”).
I have no idea what’s going to happen in the big picture.
I’m a little bit scared.
I’m just beginning to see glimmers of light ahead of me.
I’m a little bit hopeful.
But for now, I sit in this odd space between the definitive past and the murky future. I like it here.
God is here with me.
That’s all I need to know for now.