Sam and I have an unusual lifestyle. I'm self-employed and he's a cowboy — like a real one who moves cows, brands them, feeds them and helps them have babies, if they need it.
He's not even posing in this picture. Just peak Sam.
For the past five years, we've spent time out west, specifically in Wyoming and New Mexico, where he's running ranches. Except for our menagerie of big horses, dogs and vehicles, we travel light. We learned how in 2018, when we sold our horse and cattle operation in Texas, and moved to a 52-foot boat in Florida.
Sounds romantic doesn't it?
Yes, but there's a price.
We pay it by living with a degree of uncertainty that would make most sane people freak. As one small example, nine days from now, I'm not sure if I will live in the wilds of New Mexico or somewhere else entirely.
I'm talking that level of uncertainty.
How do you stay sane?
It's surprising I'm as chill as I am about this, but I've figured out four things that work for me when I'm walking through fog. Maybe they will help you too.
- Recognize that certainty is an illusion anyway. Anything can be taken at any time, and when it happens, you're forced to observe where you put your trust in the first place. I'm practicing trusting God with all of it, because any other approach just wears me out with worry. I lean into scriptures like Psalm 1, which promises that those who delight in the word of God are like trees planted by water, whose leaves won't wither.
I'm the least physically-rooted person I know, but my roots in God grow deeper all the time. Each time I open my hands and trust that God won't leave or forsake me, he proves it. Interestingly, that scripture is about trusting God instead of money, which if we're honest, is usually the real fear anyway. - Lean into people you love and trust. On Sunday, I preached at our local church and found myself with a huge vulnerabilty hangover afterward. I could have wrestled that all by myself, but a smarter move was to dial up someone to whom I rarely have to explain myself.
She didn't tell me things I don't know, she reminded me of things I do. Sometimes that's all it takes to help us get up and keep going. It's weird that we tend to isolate when we get afraid or down. Solitude is useful, but isolation is toxic. Don't do it. Go find someone to hold your hand when the way is dark and foggy. - Clean up your mind. If I had a friend lie to me as often as my thoughts do, I would not be friends with them. It's incredible how much we believe what's in our heads, simply because we don't know to challenge it.
Uncertainty is the perfect time to be hyper-vigilant with your thoughts, because their assessment of reality and prescription for dealing with it is often dead wrong. Even the act of noticing your thoughts separates you from them, and gives you a shot at objectivity. A good question to ask is: what's the story I'm telling myself and how true is it? What else might be true? Usually, there are several potentials and you don't know which one is right yet; so quit picking the worst version, like it's the only one. - Do Something. Even the tiniest action can break the inertia that swamps us sometimes. If you can't figure out what to do, text someone you know who's going through hard territory, and encourage them. That little act cheers both of you, and gives you the feeling of motion and generosity.
Or, get up and clean your house. You can't always control your future, but you can control your space. A clean house is calming. Or, is there a tiny step you can take toward something you care about? Just getting a small task done, can ease the shakes and shuffle you out of paralysis.
Grace and solidarity matter too.
Who knows, I might be in a stage four meltdown by next week. I hope not, but it happens. Lucky for Sam and me, we rarely melt down at the same time. My hope is, when and if things go sideways, I will have practiced all of this enough that peace has become my default.
Maybe that's the gift in not knowing what's coming. Daily trust falls.
Have a great week.
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