Space
Space
by Shannon Janico
Recently, I received a frantic text message from a sweet girl I met one summer on a dock, at a Young Life camp.
How did you get the courage to walk away from your high school/college relationship? I am terrified of breaking my own heart and how much change it’ll be since we have almost been together for three years. I just know it needs to be done.
When I received this text message, Jordan, my incredible husband, and I were gearing up for a walk at our favorite park on a gorgeous Sunday. Instantly, I dropped the sun screen in my hands and without hesitation started quickly typing.
This is huge. You are about to make the best decision of your entire life. You get courage by following Jesus. You pay attention to when you feel the peace of God that transcends all understanding and when you do not. You are not alone. You have support. You will not die. You will be happy again. Read John 15. Stay in the present. Don’t live in the past. You do not know what God has in store for you both in the future, but all you do know is that in this single moment right now, you need space. Focus on that. Space is never a bad thing.
My thumbs went frantic. The walk could wait. The words that vomited out of my head into that phone had pools of tears backing them, sleepless nights supporting them, hours of therapy enriching them, moving quiet times with God scaffolding them, and countless days of peace and joy with Jordan loving them.
Oh, how I wanted this sweet sophomore in college to give herself space. To finally throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles to run with endurance the race God set before her (Hebrews 12:1). To give that boy space.
Space can be terrifying. The word itself can make any insecure middle school girl burst into tears (I would know). Space is vulnerable, unknown, fresh, beautiful, and alive.
What do you do with space?
It’s that uncomfortable feeling of questioning your interior design taste after you finally gain the courage to take your Christmas tree down on January 15th. It’s the feeling when your sorority chapter meeting gets canceled and all the plans that would have helped you avoid the pain are suddenly gone. All you are left with is space and an infinite amount of confusing choices.
An old woman on a white porch taught me about space.
Space, like time, is never a bad thing. It either brings you something better, or it brings appreciation to what you decided needed to come back.
A week before I drove to Nashville to start my sophomore year of college, I sat on a patch of green lying to myself and denying God. My high school boyfriend asked me, “what if I never became a Christian, would it be a make or break later in life for you?” I can still feel the lie I pushed out of my two lips.
“no.”
After a week of sobbing, I expected this lie to bring me the peace I craved, as this green grass conversation led us to get back together.
Instead, I felt like a dead fish. Hollow. Empty. Drained. Weary.
Numbly, we departed. I slowly moved one foot in front of the other, sick to my stomach. My phone felt silent. There was nothing left to say. I had turned my back on God.
I walked slowly, startled at my own betrayal. Incredibly aware of the nature surrounding me.
It was there on that grey sidewalk that Jesus found me. I looked to my right at a white, old house, and there he was, resting in a rocking chair. He called me over. I quite literally walked into the front door of his white house, into his parlor, and sat down.
I sat facing a woman with frosted, white hair and impeccable cheekbones, a beauty no doubt in her time. I sat facing the woman in whom Christ chose to dwell, oblivious of dinner times, text messages, and to-do lists.
My face and heart were his. I could no longer do this life without him. Every word from him I needed.
Incredible pain often brings you straight to the face of the doctor.
After unashamedly unloading my heart, I sat eager to drink every word that cascaded out of his mouth.
Space is never a bad thing. It can only bring you someone better, or it will bring you back stronger.
I can hear those wise words as clearly today as I did on that fading summer day. They ring life into my soul. The magnitude of them brings water to my eyes.
Space. The fearful unknown of growing up. Space. The strength to my step as I left that white porch. The rhythm to my dead and fearful heart slowly picking up.
Right then, I did not have to decide who I was going to marry, what town I was going to live in, or how I wanted to raise children, but I did have to tell my high school boyfriend that I needed space.
Space.
The slam of a red car door. The last exit. The first exhale.
Space. The dead Christmas tree tossed outside. The beauty of the crown molding coming to life after a December dormant, cutting a perfect line on my floor. As I stare at the neutral wall, I hunger to throw out the wicker basket that blocks my eye from completing this perfect line. The sun beams in so newly. So divine.
The beauty of space. The pain of space. The strength of space. The muscles that grow every time you resist the urge to text him or put that familiar wicker basket back in the corner out of fear of seeing the room without it. The pain of space.
Oh Lord, can you be enough? I often asked myself that question during the year when both my best friend and my high school boyfriend were no longer in my life. Suddenly, the quiet times in college, sitting with Christ and God’s Word, became a life line. A plug, if pulled, could stop a heart.
I can feel it now. A memory hidden in my wings. That neutral wall. That white fresh line takes me back to tossing blue, purple, yellow plastic confetti from my childhood Easter basket hidden in the game room closet. Easter.
Christ took my space.
On that bright green patch of grass stands the cross that my Savior took. The cross that I deserve. The cross that set me free. Freed me to walk away from that bright green patch of grass into the white house. Into the arms of my Savior.
Christ calls me to run forward. To live a life worthy of this freedom. Oh, my precious Jesus, thank you for freeing me from that patch of green grass.
I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. John 15:2
Forward, I step on.
Space brought me Jordan. A man I did not have to change. My unbelievable husband whose heart is more dear, more loving, more strong than I ever dreamed possible. A man who hungers for space to hear from God and leads me in following Jesus. Jordan bears fruit, pruned by his own unique walk with Christ.
Together we walk, hand-in-hand, into the door of the white, old house.
The freshness of a white wedding dress contrasting the neutral stones from the slightly darker wooden cross makes me hungry.
Lord, I pray that you give everyone in an unhealthy relationship the courage to create space for you, the only One that truly satisfies. Thank you that space can bring us closer to You, closer to our family members, and closer to our friends. Jesus, please heal the wounds of painful relationships from these girls and women. Help us create space for you. Thank you for taking our space on the cross. We love you. Amen.
Shannon Janico, founder of Heaven Bent Women, loves her amazing husband Jordan, middle school kids, yoga, and writing to bring more people to Jesus.
Photo credit to the incredible http://tandshughesphotography.com/
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