The Spiral Into the Unknown

Last month we surprised these ever-growing boys of ours on a road trip to stay overnight at an indoor water park. Being together with them and our oldest daughter before she embarks on shifting her residence to an entire other country - it just seemed monumental to have one last grand adventure together. (She contains the wild, adventurous genes of the family - the boys adore that about her most.) We were blown away with the enormity of this production. One corridor just kept opening into another large room of children running everywhere. With water exhibits everywhere the eyes could see, it was almost overwhelming to know even where to begin our day of fun. Since the lines for the waterslides didn't look too long, and it was closest to us, it seemed like the best place to start. Climbing the incredibly long set of stairs, one landing just kept turning into another set of stairs. Anticipation grew as we realized how high we were treading, knowing that the way down had the potential to be fast and furious. Thankfully we finally (exhaustingly) reached the top and were elated to discover we could all descend in one giant, inflatable tube - we could share the adventure together! Our turn to climb in arrived, and I intentionally chose the side of the tube directly facing the mouth of our decent down. I was not going to go into this not seeing what twists and turns were coming! The rest of the family settled in the attendant gave our tube a not-so-gentle push towards our demise. Now, what happened next was both unfortunate as well as confusing. To my dismay, the tube somehow spun around before plummeting into the great abyss of the slide. (Did the attendant do that on purpose?!) Before I knew it, I was the one sailing down backwards - my view of what was to come completely gone. And what was worse? Everything suddenly turned dark. Complete darkness. I swear we were going 320mph (okay, I may be exaggerating here) without visual guidance, the slide violently twisting and turning left and right with an occasional glimpse of light to reveal nothing for me but the expressions on my kids' and husband's face. They were in utter delight. Me - not so much. I did what any (ir)rational woman would do in this scenario - I screamed. "I don't like this!", along with other feral sounds were the only thing that would come out. Our son, Chase, was rather perturbed by my apparent lack of sanity and hollered back, "Mom! Stop screaming!" Clearly I was interrupting the joy he was having on this adventure. His screaming at my screaming instantly made me laugh hysterically. (Nervous laughter? Embarrassed laughter? I'm uncertain.) That foolish inner tube - not once did it turn around properly for me to take in the view of our wild trip down that slide. We ended at the bottom with a loud whoosh and all I could say was, "I hated that...let's do it again!!" I was completely beside myself...with myself. What kind of insanity was that?! The rest of the day consisted of lots of laughter, facing some fears, and making lots of memories. I hadn't done any introspection on that whole encounter. Until today.
I've done a lot of soul searching lately.
The past few years have been a paramount of emotions.
Life has been like the waterslide with my back to the view of where it leads. And I can't seem to get the attendant's attention to tell him that I want to get off. Life's changing and moving too fast. I've had a long season where I've struggled to fully embrace the entirety of this ride. There's been moments of absolute highs - those exhilarating moments when I'm at the top of the slide, eager for the adventure and feeling confident that I'm able to take on whatever twists and turns may come. Because I possess the knowledge that the journey is going to end and all will be well. But then circumstances plummet downward in a terrifying spiral into the great unknown. My vision becomes impaired in the darkness of the unknown; unable to see whatever lies ahead - fear, doubt and uncertainty threaten to overtake. In the chaos and confusion, I find my heart silently screaming, "I don't like this!" But then I catch a glimpse into the lives of my children, walking heavily through their own struggles, and my spirit is quietly, inwardly corrected, "Mom - stop screaming." There's a certain call to action that they give me without ever even speaking a word; an unspoken way they have of correcting my own perspective. (The ways God uses them to speak volumes to my heart never ceases to amaze me.)
I've come to realize that in our human flesh, we have many, many expectations. And they're not necessarily even intentional. Our thought processes are so incredibly subliminal, but when I take time to think through what the source of my struggle is...it's always the same thought: This isn't turning out the way I thought it would.  I'm not leaning into and accepting "what is". And I know I'm not alone - I hear it echoed in the lives of those around me. 
I've had to face that truth on more than one sleepless night. This season of life has spiraled down a tunnel of emotions and circumstances that I really didn't anticipate. There's been more internal struggle with acceptance than I'd care to admit. My heart has cried out to God again and again, "I don't like this!" And it's not the honesty of the statement that is problematic - it's the choosing to dwell there. I think denying our hard truth doesn't benefit us...but most definitely, choosing to change our perspective does. I am at work regularly sweeping up the dusty, toxic areas of my mind. I don't have to love certain circumstances, but I can choose to accept that they're changing me to better reflect the image of Christ. I can mourn the loss of hopes and dreams while embracing the reality of what is. 
It all circles back to trust. When I'm unable to see my way through the unpredictable tunnel that's spiraling into the great unknown - is God still good? If it all doesn't end the way I'd hoped - am I loved any less? I know the answers, yet sometimes I don't always feel the weight of their truths. God is good, and I am loved. 
And my journey - albeit unpredictable and sometimes painfully difficult...is unique. My journey to the heart of Christ is uniquely mine. 
He chose this specific path for both His glory and my good.