The Fallow

     “Come on. It’s so much fun!” my childhood friend Greg encouraged me.  Everyone was doing it, it seemed, and I didn’t want to be left behind.  It took a while to convince my father, but my unique Baby-of-the-Family superpowers bent his will to mine.  That weekend, my father, his wallet, and I visited the Erie Sports Store and I left fully outfitted for downhill skiing. I was 12.

     A motorcoach full of parochial school preteen kids bounded across the state border to Peek’n Peak in Clymer, New York eight times each winter.  My first boyfriend, Rich, taught me how to slalom, but I never mastered the black diamond runs with the steep drops and moguls. Slow and meandering was just fine by me. In high school, the last run of the night with my friends was a sassy sashay down the bunny hill without poles, laughing our way to the Lodge to pack up for the night.  During college, my gear remained in storage for a while, but my interest refreshed in my 20’s when I lived back at home in Erie.

     Confident, with brand new, longer, freshly waxed skis, I drove up the familiar snowy roads to The Peak by myself one night after work. Between the Lodge and Chair One were some trails that cut through the trees, coated with some manageable baby bumps - miniature moguls.  My high school friends and I had enjoyed taking this exhilarating short cut along our trek to the next run.  Nostalgically, I embarked on the path.  Rusty from years of atrophy and with super slick skis, I lost control, scissored, and took a hefty tumble.  The pain was excruciating and I wasn’t able to move.  A little off the beaten path, I worried about being found;  I yelled for help until I lost my voice.  Thankfully two young girls eventually found me and skied away to fetched the ski patrol.  Twenty minutes later, I was secured in the back of an ambulance headed to the hospital in Erie.  I fractured my leg.

     Fast forward about 2 months later and my leg became very hot and swollen.  Things weren’t healing correctly so I went in for some imaging which resulted in an immediate hospital admission.  It was discovered that I had a five inch long deep vein thrombosis (DVT) in my leg.  If even the tiniest piece broke off, it could cause a fatal pulmonary embolism, heart attack or stroke. My condition was serious.

     For a week, I lay in bed, paralyzed in fear.  Critically concerned nurses attended, sternly trying to impress upon me the gravity of my situation: “Stay still.”  There was nothing I could do, only wait for the blood thinning medication to slowly dissolve the clot.  It was then that I learned about surrendering.

     My fate was in the hands of forces beyond my control.  Nothing I’d done in the past impacted the outcome. No contrite apologies to God for past aberrations could tip the scale of luck in my favor. Life was going to play itself out and all I could do was bear witness. So many prayers were said by me, for me, near me.  After I was discharged, I was placed on an anticoagulant for a good while and – knock on wood – the DVT resolved.  How I didn’t die prior to getting to the hospital was in itself a miracle – I wasn’t still during my recovery.

Stay Still

     Resolution is something our minds crave and we’ll go a long ways to find it. Brains hate when things are left undone, needs are unmet, goals are not quite accomplished. Yet sometimes that’s the awkward, uncomfortable space we need to patiently stay in for a while - vulnerable to the circumstances of a future which we cannot envision let alone plan for.  We can pray. We can work hard and live our best values-aligned life during the interim, aiming for that which we want. Sometimes, we must simply wait for things to unfold.  And that waiting can be a struggle.

     Every season has it’s reason, but this is the one that asks us to be patient. The fallow is something we are supposed to endure because the Divine Design has given it to us.  Instead of fighting it, I think we’re supposed to lean into it. There’s no such thing as bad weather, right? 

Surrender

     Cursed or blessed, I’m introspective. When this season of life comes around, I find it helpful to reflect, realign myself, and reset.  Just as soil rests and regenerates during winter (which ultimately improves its fertility), I think us humans are supposed to utilize our fallow time that way, too.  Sometimes I purge my belongings and reorganize.  I plan for the business, for personal adventures, and some goals.  And for me this season – which doesn’t always coincide with Mother Nature’s calendar - means taking time to go “Away Away” for solitude and silence.

     Patiently sitting in a state between hope and wonder, I’ve learned to trust that the universe (what I, as a Christian, call “God”) reveals what’s next in due time. This, I’ve come to learn, some call Kairos – things will happen as and when they’re supposed to, not bound by time but as Providence deems the right moment.

     I struggle with patience sometimes. Suffering happens when I fixate on the outcomes or try to force resolution. Fighting reality by attempting to steer things leaves no room for Grace.  Surrender, I’m learning, is accepting the moment that I am in without trying to control the narrative of my life, the behavior of others, or tacking down all the details.  It’s letting go and trusting the free fall.

Surrender Isn’t Giving Up

     When Bob unexpectedly passed away, life threw me a major blow and the blueprint of my life incinerated in an instant.  An impending countdown began that I couldn’t ignore. I had to quickly make decisions regarding how to navigate a widowed-with-children life. Waiting wasn’t an option, yet full surrender was necessary.  All the security that was built around me was demolished, requiring me to sort through my life, piece by piece, and rebuild something functional. Having children gave me a large, logical compass and clear destinations to steer towards, yet I had no idea exactly where we were heading or how we’d manage through the waters. And although I had the love and support of family and familiars, there was no co-partner fully responsible with me to make those choices.  I had to surrender while moving in what I hoped was a forward direction.  I understand now that some maps unfurl along the way. 

     Surrendering is less of a conversation and more of a practice in listening.  It’s not so much of a doing, but of a receiving, an openness, watching something unfold.  As a Christian, we call this making room for Grace to work and being open to the mysterious ways of the Holy Spirit.  This takes a lot of prayer and discernment, to figure out and receive confirmations so you know what God’s bringing forth.

Relational Surrender

     Between people, us counselors talk about “relational surrender,” an act of love, respect and trust.  Sometimes relationships need to induce a fallow season, a pause that allows growth to emerge. Whether couples are navigating power struggles, trauma, major life decisions, commitment, or separation, clarity often requires individuals to have some space. 

     Relational surrender rests on the assumption of good intentions.  It takes both people to let go of control, expectations, and the need to steer outcomes.  By doing so, trust and emotional intimacy can deepen.  The focus shifts from “What can I get?” to “What can I give?”  It allows each person to do what they need to do independent of the other.  It is a selfless love.

     Each person must step back, give space, and let go.  In order for relational surrender to succeed, there has to be deep mutual respect and a sagacious love that goes beyond what one desires. It’s a detachment of sorts, an arriving at a place where what you want is the healthiest outcome, regardless of self-interest. No expectations.  No pressure. It is love of the highest sort. The healthiest outcome may not be what we secretly hoped for, but true surrender remains open to whatever comes. 

After the Fallow Always Comes the Spring 

     These fallow seasons, within ourselves and between one another, invite us to release control and trust the process.  By doing so, we allow a necessary space for things to unfold organically in their time. (In Christian terms we believe that God’s ways are not our ways.  His time is not our time.)  I think it’s important to learn how to negotiate the liminal with patience and acceptance. To understand and accept that there is a reason for every season, even if we can’t see very far down the road as to why.  When the heart leads with love and compassion, and the mind practices patience and respect, spring blossoms in splendor, often times much more beautiful than we imagined.

Disclaimer:  This is a personal reflection essay and not intended as therapy.  If you are struggling with a fallow season and would like some support, please reach out to schedule an appointment.