One of my favorite things about being a homeowner and caring for my place is pulling weeds. Mind you, it wasn’t love at first sight, but over the years, I’ve really come to enjoy it.

After my morning walk today, I took some time to weed a few spots in my backyard. I’d been avoiding it for a while, always finding better things to do with my time. But once I dug in, that familiar fondness resurfaced and I remembered how much I enjoyed it.

The weeds near my backdoor were overgrown so I anticipated the job taking a while. But I quickly realized their bark was worse than their bite. The weeds had shallow roots and were easy to pull. They also sprawled giving the appearance of being more than they were. Pulling the root of one, removed a large weed-covered section with little effort.

Isn’t that life? Oftentimes the things that trip us up appear much stronger than they actually are. The most powerful aspect of weeds is their fear-inducing appearance not the reality of their existence. In order to get our attention, they have to boast beyond their true presence and convince us of their ungainly influence.

Good prevails though. Those roots run deep and require more effort to uproot. Lord, help me to recognize the weeds for what they are– shallow and manageable. Don’t let me give them more power in my life than they rightfully deserve.

I’m traveling to Norway this summer to visit a few friends. It’s still hard to believe it’s actually happening. It’s been on my list since my semester abroad in Australia back in 2004.

I traveled to Australia in the company of two good friends from the University of Idaho with whom I planned the whole semester. We lived with two Norwegians who didn’t know each other prior to that time. I’ll save the details of that semester for another post because it’s so dear to my heart that a brief tangent wouldn’t do it justice.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m on summer break. So I have plenty of time to prepare for my trip in a few weeks. Oddly enough, though, I found myself stressing about the things I should do around the house and the preparations I should make for the trip earlier this week.

I started making a list hoping that would ease my nerves but it only exasperated the situation. My thoughts were scattered and the list felt contrived and forced. So I abandoned the list and went about with my aimless day trusting the anxious feelings would soon subside.

Here I am, five days later and my prediction proved true. I came across my partly written list just yesterday and realized that nearly all the items had been completed and the ones that hadn’t were no longer important. They happened in their own good time and not on my self-induced, regimented schedule. I allowed it to flow,  and all was well.

It took me back to the winter break before my semester in Australia. My two friends from college were working multiple jobs while I had little with which to occupy my time. My existence at that time felt so purposeless, especially when compared to my friends’ experiences. What I didn’t realize was that I was being prepared for the life that lie before me in Australia.

The laid back, “no worries” attitude was especially prevalent on the college campus and my two friends didn’t know what to do with themselves. To go from a 40+ work week to little to no structure left them floundering the first few weeks. Meanwhile, I was able to fall right into step with it.

I can feel that same internal prep happening now in advance of my trip to Norway. I’ll be flying solo, especially in Trondheim, where my friend is married with three kids. I’m staying in a hostel there, and I anticipate doing much of my exploring there on my own. Oslo will likely be better because I’ll be staying with my friend there. But she’ll be working, so many of the days will be on my own.

Instead of forcing a routine on myself this month, I’m going with the flow and allowing life to unfold as it will. As strange as it may sound, this is probably the most important vacation preparation task I can undertake.

A bold title to what could be considered unworthy subject matter, but it is the source of my inspiration so I’ll continue.

I have an incredible job. It utilizes all the best parts of me and puts me in a position to positively influence young people as they come into their own during their college years. Such a humbling and invigorating position and one that allows me to share the wisdom (dare I say) and perspective I’ve gained over the past three and a half decades of my life.

Another reason I love my job besides its strong sense of purpose is the fact that I’m on a 10-month contract and get to enjoy June and July off from work. A wonderful benefit but also a challenging shift in reality.

My last day of work before summer break was nearly two weeks ago. However, my transition has been delayed with the visit of a close friend this past weekend. I had several home projects that I undertook in anticipation of her visit– updating and painting the basement bedroom, painting the baseboard in the newly renovated bathroom, and recaulking the shower.

As is the case with most home projects, the timeline soon ballooned beyond original expectations. So the week I had off prior to her arrival would best be described as a condensed frenzy of activity that left me with little sleep and major surges of deadline-induced motivation coupled with bouts of anxiety and resignation.

Now that my friend and her daughter have left, I feel like I’m ushering myself into the true work of transition. Coming off 40 hours of work a week to 40+ hours of home project-ing this past week and now to no clear direction is challenging. It has its way of leaving a person a bit unsettled.

Last summer it took me weeks to make my way into a good and satisfying summer rhythm.  The second time around is always easier I assured myself. But today, on my first full weekday of freedom and aimlessness, I wonder if this adage will hold true.

The familiar fears creep up– loneliness, lack of identity and purpose, ambiguity. I know it sounds absurd to complain about it but to deny the struggle would be dishonest. But surprisingly, as I considered these things this evening, a surge of courage welled up inside of me.

Yes, this is challenging. Yes, I lose myself for a time in this space. Yes, I don’t know how long the transition will last nor do I know how to best navigate it. But even in considering all these things, the word “Unafraid” came to my mind. And in that moment, it occurred to me that the greater reality was not my fears and concerns but my courage and confidence.

Unwelcome insecurities always come to the surface during this time of transition but that’s part of the journey– a part of the journey that stretches and molds me. As with all transitions, growth is happening under the surface and I know I’ll come out different than when I started. And for that, I can be excited. For that reason, I can step into this uncertain time certain of the gift that awaits me on the other side.

This is the gift of the struggle if we allow it the space it needs to accomplish its good work of changing us.

My neighbor across the alley, a military vet, apparently still has a thing for adrenaline-pumping experiences and has decided to share that with his grandkids in the form of alley racing. He loads one of three grandkids on his four-wheeler and races up and down the alleys at 30-35 miles an hour, honking the horn the entire way as if that warning sign makes the activity safe.

The grandkids of course love it. And the granddad seems quite pleased with the exhilaration of the speed and encouragement of the kids, with his cap turned backwards, his slick sunglasses on and his white knuckles gripping the handles.

All these awful scenarios run through my mind of what could happen– the four-wheeler running over a cat or dog because they can’t stop soon enough, a car backing out of a garage and the four-wheeler slamming into it, an elderly person who’s hard of hearing stepping into the four-wheeler’s path and getting hit.

The concerns loomed large the day I witnessed it and really upset me. It’s so interesting how those thoughts can occupy such a large part of your mind. You don’t even realize how big it’s become until you speak it out loud.

Such was the case when I shared it with a guy I went on a second date with that same afternoon. It’s incredible what a burden it lifted when I spoke it out loud. His response didn’t even matter. I just needed it to be heard and somehow the magnitude of the concern was returned to its proper size.

Yes, it’s not safe and hopefully I’ll have an opportunity to express my concerns to my neighbor but it doesn’t have to be all-consuming and ruin my day. Silent concerns are a killer because they so quickly become unbalanced. It’s so easy to forget that the greatest remedy is the simplest one– speaking them out loud in the company of another.