Letting Go
A Reflection By Shannon Dahlstedt
Letting Go
From my desk, I can see in this sunlit office- books, pictures, two thriving bonsai trees, and a very dated armchair that I would like to donate to charity. I keep the mismatched chair because of its functionality: my sons still sit in it and talk to me when they come home each day. My office used to be their playroom. Years ago, I sat here on the floor with them, in front of their Thomas the Train table, where we built and rearranged train tracks.
Every space in this house holds our stories and memories. One of my sons will be leaving for college in January, and the other one recently began exerting his independence with his new driver’s license. They no longer need me in the same way as when we played and read books together on the playroom floor.
They will soon leave home, and our nest will be too big for my husband and me. So lately, having made the decision to downsize, I’ve been searching for a home that better suits our needs as we begin to let go. I thought making the decision was the hard part, but I was wrong. I find myself experiencing a lot of resistance some days as I face this practice of letting go. I’m clinging to my house like a vine to a tree.
Holy Waiting
We are all inescapably called to let go at certain points in our lives. Retiring, moving, sending the kids out into the world, all require this act of releasing that which we love. Sometimes the rug is violently ripped out from under our feet:
The families who lost their homes in Hurricane Ian.
A couple who lost their child.
Ukrainians fleeing Russia’s military invasion.
Communities burned to cinders in wildfires.
A recent divorcee.
All who have left their churches, as we have been discussing in the past two monthly reflections.
At these times we wonder, who am I without this person that I loved? Who am I without my home and community? Some letting go is invisible to others. It is an inside job, like a spiritual awakening, private and personal.
We can only do so much letting go from our own will. We may know from a logical perspective why something has to change, and we can acknowledge our feelings about what is changing. Yet too often we still find ourselves clinging to that which no longer serves us but keeps us bound.
In her book, “When the Heart Waits,” Sue Monk Kidd writes about the struggle between clinging and letting go:
We stop struggling, stop saying, “I will let go, I will, I will.” Instead, having done all we can, we allow God to work directly on the more secret and deeply ingrained attachments we have to self. We allow God to release us through the experiences, encounters, and events that come to us. [1]
Letting Go as a Process
It is important to take quiet time to honor what was. By talking to a friend or spiritual companion, or by journaling or finding other creative expressions, we can name and release our attachment. Looking deeply, new possibilities emerge. An open stance and a willingness to imagine something different can alleviate some of the suffering caused by loss or change.
Logically, downsizing is the best choice for my family. We earnestly want a simpler life than what our 100-year-old house can provide, however charming it feels to us now. But what I have noticed in actually taking the steps to sell it is that not knowing where we will end up makes me feel panicked. What if I don’t like the next place we move, and I want my old house back?! I find myself grieving the upcoming goodbye of many happy years in this space, as well as the sadness of my kids moving out; all of it associated together.
We need to quit forcing things and enter the darkness of true liberty, where we give up self-efforts and allow God to intercede and draw us to our moment of readiness. [2]
Trust
Letting go can feel like a wilderness, or a dark night of the soul, even if letting go is the obvious answer. Giving up something known and loved creates a void. It’s important to pay attention to feelings of fear, sadness, and doubt, and it is ok to not know the answers. In fact, great spiritual people advise that we don’t expect immediate answers. The poet Rainer Maria Rilke advised another young poet thus,
I ask you, dear sir, to have patience with all that is unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves, like closed rooms, like books written in a foreign language.
Don’t try to find the answers now. They cannot be given anyway, because you would not be able to live them. For everything is to be lived.
Live the questions now. Perhaps you then may gradually, without noticing one day in the future, live into the answers. Perhaps you bear within yourself the capacity to imagine and shape a sacred way of life. Prepare yourself for that. Trust what comes to you. [3]
Perhaps one of the worst feelings when sitting in the dark is that of being unmoored, a vessel set adrift. Where is the shore? Do I need an anchor or an oar, and which do I use now? What lies ahead, and will I like it?
Space for Growth
To live the question of downsizing, I turned my focus to actively loving my home. I made repairs and updates to give it new life. I hope that as I work on what can be seen, God is working on my heart, unseen, readying me for our next step.
Doing what we know we can and trusting the rest to God’s wisdom, though it may take longer than expected, we are led into growth and newness. In the dark, quiet space in our hearts, God frees us from attachment. Moving slowly forward, that which was invisible begins to take shape, and a different life can present itself for our participation. In this way we grow in God and co-create a life we are now ready to live.
Reflect & Share
Have you been called to let go of something that kept you bound?
Where was God in that story with you?
What did you find helpful in letting go?
Share in Community
Would you like to discuss your thoughts on this month’s reflection? Twice a month we offer our drop-in Sacred Circles in which we share the monthly reflection in a safe and welcoming environment.
[1] Sue Monk Kidd, When the Heart Waits, (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 1990), 106- 107.
[2] ibid
[3] Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet, (Boulder, CO: Shambhala Publications, Inc., 2023), 34.