Celebrating Surrender

I shared last week in Watermarks that without effort I remember dates and significant moments. And so, it is only fitting I share that today is the 6-month publishing anniversary of Unraveling: Coming Out and Back Together, my first collection of poetry.

Celebrating myself is not an act that comes naturally or without intense internal conflict. I was taught at a young age that I was not worthy of celebration and that even wanting to be celebrated was a sign of arrogance or sin. Celebrating today is a big deal and a sign of growth and healing. It is only possible because I’ve worked hard at unraveling the knots of guilt and shame and fear and doubt that caused me to avoid celebration in the first place.

Last Sunday on my walk to the river to spend time with the tree, as I reflected on my changing relationship with celebration, I was reminded of my changing understanding of surrender. In the fall of 2016 I was preparing spiritually, emotionally, mentally, physically, professionally, and financially for coming out and leaving ministry in the United Methodist Church. In a session with my therapist I asked, “What exactly am I doing?”

She invited me to say more.

“What’s the official word for what I’m trying to do? Am I quitting? Am I resigning?”

I was aware that leaving meant turning in or giving back my credentials. But the process for doing that was not clear and the few people I spoke with were not helpful or forthcoming with information. I would have had more support had I been accused of a crime or a chargeable offense.

She answered, “In official language, you are voluntarily surrendering your credentials.”  

There was silence.

“This is an intentional brave well thought decision you are making.”

There was more silence.

“This is you listening to your heart and answering the call to authenticity that we have talked about for months.”

There was a longer silence and the beginning of tears.

“Remember your own words, this is you surrendering the shame that keeps you from living and loving yourself.”

Actively for months, but really for years, I had been unraveling what it means to surrender. Letting go of the belief that it was an act of weakness or sickness, that it was synonymous with quitting or giving up, that it was a step toward death.

Sitting last Sunday at the river, admiring the tree and all of those around it, I remembered the trees surrounding me as I unraveled surrender. How their changing colors guided me to embrace change rather than resist it. How their falling leaves invited me to release a life that kept me from living and the self-hatred that made loving impossible.

This is the ninth fall since that season of unbelievable loss and unexpected liberation. And for the first time I am truly able to celebrate my surrender. I celebrate survival. I celebrate the creativity that allowed me to vision a different path long before it appeared. I celebrate the strength to recognize an experience can shape you without having to also define you.

I celebrate the people that have sat with me in my unraveling. I celebrate their wise words and listening ears. I celebrate saints whose light shines through the cracks of broken institutions.

I celebrate the trees. The trunks. The branches. The leaves and the colors that dance in vibrant brilliant shades beyond our description. I celebrate the stories the trees whisper. The patterns and examples. The ability and willingness to surrender and show us how to do the same. The ways they caught my tears long before I could hold them and drink them and realize just how sacred they really are. I celebrate the way bitter gives way to sweet. I celebrate surrender as a step toward living.

What are you celebrating? What moments and experiences are calling out from within to be named and honored and remembered? What have you survived that you thought would destroy you? What are you surrendering in order to embrace the beauty and miracles of this season in your life?

Below is a video me reading Unsweet Surrender from Unraveling: Coming Out and Back Together. To read these words, you can order a copy of the book here. If you already have the book, turn to page 27.

The poems in the book are curated by liturgical season and this poem is part of Advent. Advent is a season of not simply waiting, but preparing for something new to arrive. As we approach Advent, I would love to come to share words of hope, peace, love, and joy with you and your organization. Visit 10camels.com to learn more about our offerings, or send a message, or leave a comment.

May our unraveling lead us all to life and love.

Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10 Camels