Out Of Eden, Into Hell
It was just before spring break of this past year. My wife, Shannon, casually mentions to me that she would like for us to consider moving back to the south at some point in the next few years. A longing that she has had for some time now, even before we were married.
We have both been on this journey of “Story Work” for the past several years now. The movement of her desire to reclaim those southern roots has only grown greater since the healing from that work. So, for spring break, we decide to take a trip to one of her favorite places, Charleston, South Carolina. A location that is still a good distance from her family in Florida, but close enough, and situated deeply in the southern ways.
I have never been and she has only been once during a girls trip. Although she has no living family in this location, it does hold historical significance. When my wife’s family immigrated to the US from Scotland several generations ago, they settled in Charleston. One of the original churches in downtown Charleston, First Scots Presbyterian Church, was home to this part of her lineage. Still to this day, there are over 20 tombstones with the “Paul” family name just outside of the church.
We decided to visit. Our trip to Charleston went well. It was beautiful. The weather was nearly perfect in April, the food was good, and there was plenty to do and see. We returned home and began our prayer and discernment process.
I’ll be honest, the idea of adventure has always appealed to me, so being open to this possibility felt easy, at least in the beginning. After about a month, we both had a clear answer. Why wait for a few years? Let’s do this now! Oh, yeah, and this was all around the same time that I decided to retire from medicine and pursue the calling into men’s ministry with Restoration Project.
So we began the process of selling nearly all of our possessions and saying goodbye to the community that we have been a part of for the past two decades. I quickly realized that my sense of security and comfort was largely attached to these things. I could feel myself beginning to panic inside long before the actual move. There was so much grief early on in the process that I wasn’t expecting. Yes, I could be strong and make my way through all of these new changes with the support and stability that I had. But what about now that I won’t have that same thing?
The next few months proved to be some of the most difficult months of my life. We moved to Charleston in the middle of July, one of the hottest months of the year with heat index temperatures of 115 degrees. It was a place and culture that felt completely foreign. I was alone and isolated. It felt like going from Eden, straight to hell, literally and figuratively.
My depression continued to worsen and I found myself hating everything about my situation. “I can’t fix this on my own! And there is nobody coming for me. God! What are you doing to me? I had everything I needed and you took it all away!”
Out of a desperate place and a good friends convincing, I decided to seek the Lord at a silent retreat. So in the mountains of North Carolina, I spent 4 days in silence, or what I thought was going to be silence.
Instead, it was a time of beautiful lament and conversation. I was met by God in a way that I had never experienced before. I began to believe that he would actually provide in those ways that I so desperately needed. I left that weekend, no longer alone, a step much closer to my dependence on God for all provision.
I’m not going to minimize my experience and tell you that everything is great now. But I will tell you that God was there waiting for me in that valley where I was stripped of all of the ways that I found security and stability. Prior to this, I found myself less reliant on God for those provisions because I had grown comfortable and familiar with receiving those things from other people and from other things. God wants both for us. For us to come to him first. And for us to be surrounded by those that love and care for us. I don’t think I would have discovered this if I remained comfortable in that place of familiarity. For that, I am most grateful.
What is something in life that feels familiar or comfortable that is keeping you from depending on God for provision?
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Drew Loftin, Grove Chaplain
