Release

When we crossed over the narrow bridge, it wasn’t a body of water I saw. The lake had been drained for the winter. It was barren, nothing like the glorious, shimmering beauty she had been days before. The last time I saw her, she was full, deep, blue, and shiny. She was dotted with boats and other watercraft leisurely relaxing in her sun glistened paradise.

No, today she was desolate — stripped of what made her a lake. Her water gone, leaving her simply a lakebed. 

Losing a child is like that. You feel stripped of what makes you who you are, bare and unrecognizable. Looking in the mirror is shocking as you see the face of someone looking right back at you that you’ve never seen before. It’s surreal as you touch the face of this person you don’t know and wonder where they came from.

Looking at the empty lake (What do you call a lake with no water? Is it still a lake?), there are roots shooting up from the sandy bottom. There are depths that until now, were unseen. This lake, she had a lot to reveal. Beneath her beauty lay brokenness she easily hid when at her best — full and welcoming. Across from the too narrow bridge, is a craggy cliff exposed as the dangerous, uneven, space where teens carelessly jump off the ledge every summer. Without the glistening lake water, the previously unseen peril is obvious and frightening as I consider the carefree teens leaping into summer’s offering without a clue of the threat lurking below the surface.

I often wonder why they drain the lake each year and I’ve realized through a little investigation that it’s for the betterment of the lake the following spring. It reminds me of how important it is to empty ourselves so we can refill — slowly — with something better. Hopefully, we refill with something more useful, kinder, and loving to help us be a better person both to ourselves and others. We can’t do that if we’re full to overflowing with the murkiness that builds up on the inside. We need a chance to come clean and refresh our thoughts, emotions, and feelings.

Like that lake, we keep so much hidden away. But if our load begins to weigh us, we begin to sink in that miry pit below the surface. We need to relinquish what we hold onto so we can offer ourselves fresh and renewed to others and to that person in the mirror. 

He drew me up from the pit of destruction,

out of the miry bog,

and set my feet upon a rock,

making my steps secure. Psalm 40:2 (ESV)

Calling on Him and releasing the load we carry is the only way out of the pit. He will set our feet on solid ground. Giving Him the hurt, the hard, and the broken things releases the pressure valve that has built up in our hearts and souls. 

Like the lake, sometimes it’s good to release all we’ve been holding onto and start fresh again.