Writings of a Beholder 🌿 5.24.24

Learning to Hold Every Version of Me

I’ve always been drawn to the morning light.

Sunsets are beautiful, but there’s something about a sunrise that promises a new beginning like living hope coming up over the clouds. Maybe this speaks to a deep inner longing I have to begin again, to rest in new mercies, and to look ahead toward the horizon. When I see a sunrise, my body and soul fill with the kind of peace that comes from knowing I can let go of yesterday’s woes, let them rest, and let the day ahead birth something new in and around me.

My husband and I have spent the week on Hilton Head Island as a way to honor a new beginning we’re facing together in our lives — the beginning of parenthood. But the more I turn this week over in my heart I realize it’s also been much like a sunset; saying goodbye to life as we know it, life with just the two of us. We’re holding the hope and birth of a sunrise and all the unfamiliar, exciting new things that come with fresh beginnings. At the same time, I must acknowledge that we’re holding our own sunset, too, as we leave behind the people we were and the life we knew prior to parenthood.

This week, we’ve watched two sunrises slowly ascend over the ocean, and both times as I’ve stood in awe of the explosion of light and color breaking through the sky, casting golden hues over the waves and sand, I’ve felt both the joy of oncoming motherhood and the grief of letting go of the woman I was before it all began.

I’ve had to get to know this new body, a new routine, new fears, and new limitations. My capacity for anything outside of growing this baby has dwindled the closer we get to July — the closer we get to finally meeting our baby girl. All of this is new to me, but I’m told by other seasoned mommas that this is very normal. I’m told that this is how my body and soul prepare to welcome new life into the world, like some instinctual thing I was born with but I’m only just now starting to experience. Like a sunrise — like the birth of something new and exciting.

But I haven’t heard a whole lot of mommas talk about the sunset moments. Like the moment when you look in the mirror and you don’t really know the person staring back at you. Maybe you thought you did, but you don’t, and that alone scares you silly. At least, it has me. But as I grapple with these changes — these moments of new beginnings and letting go — I’m learning that not really knowing who I am at the moment doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

As humans, especially in our culture, we like holding all the cards. We like to think we have all the right answers, that life is black and white, and right and wrong are so very obvious. So of course when people ask, “Who are you?”, we think we have to have an answer. But this season is teaching me that maybe holding more questions than answers is really how we grow and get to know who we are underneath all the falsity.

Maybe it’s time to start believing that God holds space for our questioning and wrestling, so why can’t we?

Sunsets hold uncertainty, they hold nothing firm to grasp as darkness descends which is probably why I prefer a sunrise. But maybe not all sunsets lead to endings — maybe this sunset of mine holds the promise of hope, too. The hope that, in letting go, I’m being formed and shaped into someone new and that maybe God uses these times of uncertainty in identity as opportunities to draw close and invite us to go slow.

To be patient with our growth, to cultivate faithfulness even in the unfamiliar, and to remember that we’re deeply known even when we feel a little lost.

That’s the truth that I keep coming back to — that my God searches me, knows me, and loves me infinitely even in this season where I hold both the gratitude and joy of growing new life and the grief of watching my old life die. As I sit openly and honestly before Him with the emotions that come with both a sunrise and a sunset.

Here is where I’m learning to not brace myself against the tides of change and uncertainty, to not bristle at the truth that I’m not sure who this new woman in me is, but instead let the waves carry me gently to this new shore, and to let the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror point me to compassion rather than shame. To receive this season as an invitation to learn about this person I’m becoming rather than shut her out and fake a strong smile.

Because of all the things I’m not sure about right now, I’m sure about this: God goes with me and holds every version of me, even this new one that feels slightly uncomfortable and scary. And I can rest in that truth, in a Love so deep that He walks with me through every ending and new beginning — through every version of me.

Which means that I must be allowed to love and embrace every version of me, too.

“Lord, you have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I stand up;
you understand my thoughts from far away.
You observe my travels and my rest;
you are aware of all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue,
you know all about it, Lord.
You have encircled me;
you have placed your hand on me.
This wondrous knowledge is beyond me.
It is lofty; I am unable to reach it.”

Psalm 139:1-6, CSB

Selah.

With you on the journey,

Celia

---

If you’re a regular reader of Writings of a Beholder, would you consider pledging your support through a monthly or yearly financial gift? If so, there’s an option at the very end of this email to upgrade to a paid subscriber.

*If not, you’ll still receive a weekly letter and retain full access to the archive! Nothing changes. You’ll still get the full experience! Pledges just help to support my work :)

---

Life Lately

---

A Breath Prayer for Your Weekend

Inhale: You have searched me, God.

Exhale: And You know me.

(adapted from Psalm 139:1)

*If you’d like to learn more about the practice of breath prayer, download this complete digital guide to practicing breath prayer.

---

Resources & Good Things to Pick Up

My mom is an ovarian cancer survivor who decided to create an encouraging planner for those walking through their cancer journey. It would also be a life-giving tool for caregivers and loved ones walking beside their cancer warrior. The ‘For Such a Time as This’ planner is officially available for purchase now here: Quiet Hope Co.

My Etsy shop, The Beholding Co., offers contemplative resources to help you slow down, seek still moments, and behold God’s presence with you in the everyday. Purchase some breath prayer cards, a Lectio Divina bookmark, and more.

Grab a copy of my Bible study, You Are Beloved: a 21-day study on how to root your identity in the love of God, over on Amazon. If you’d like a free 3-day sample of the study, reply to this email and I’ll send it right over!

My friend and licensed spiritual director, Kari Bartkus, offers an 8-week journaling program for those who want to process their grief and trauma with God within the safety of blank journal pages. I’ve completed the program myself and can say confidently that it was incredibly impactful and healing: Journal Gently

---

An Invitation to Pause & Reflect

A regular practice of reflection helps us recognize what’s going on beneath the surface of our souls so we can name it in the Lord’s presence. Because as we learn to name what we feel, what we need, and what we long for, we’re also learning to discern the Spirit’s sweet, gentle voice within our hearts and lives.

Take a few moments today or this weekend to journal or contemplate with the Holy Spirit the following question(s) or prompt(s):

What sunrises or sunsets (beginnings and endings) are you facing in your life right now?

How might you show compassion to yourself through them?