Supplanting

Thursday was supposed to be a rest day for me, but I found myself wanting to wrap up a looming transition in my life. So I lugged out the 50lb kettlebell, got myself warmed up, and grinded out 18 punishing minutes of 8 push-ups, 10 American kettlebell swings and 12 air squats. My goal was to hold a 1:00/round pace and finish 18+ rounds, which I did, but just barely.

What does that workout have to do with a life transition? It was my 1,000th day of doing at least 1 Street Parking workout and I had decided earlier this month, rather abruptly, that I was going to switch to a different program for my garage gym workouts. And I was going to make my 1,000th my last.

I had been noodling which Street Parking workout to do as my farewell. Should I pick something epic, like one of their Vault workouts? Should I wrap up the bodyweight strength track I was working on? Should I just do whatever they had provided for the day, which I’ve done 95% of the time and just call it good?

Then it became clear to me: Redo the very first Street Parking workout you did and compare your progress. That’s a very CrossFit thing to do: benchmark, track, know if black and white terms if you’re improving. I had to scroll WAAAAY back to find it: Feb. 2, 2022. That’s when I switched from working out at CrossFit Flathead to working out at home and slowly building out a garage gym.

My transition out of CrossFit Flathead was rather abrupt itself. I had grown to love it—the workouts, the members, the coaching, the competitive outlet, the growth I saw in myself and those around me. I started in the fall of 2020 and it served as an anchor and an outlet during some bumpy times in our life.

But then rather suddenly it became apparent to me that I wasn’t supposed to be pursuing health and fitness solo, but together as a family. And so I sent a cancellation email to Coach Nicole and got a very meaningful email in return, which brought me to tears back then and did so again rereading it today.

The tears were from loss. Loss of friendship and camaraderie. Loss of the familiar. Loss of identity. Loss of being known. I was stepping out of a place I was valued and appreciated and had experienced so much joy and growth. And I was stepping into the unknown.

This has been a running theme in our lives as we’ve done our best to follow our hearts and follow God. Leaving Michigan. Leaving the church plant. Selling the house we built. Leaving my job. Leaving gyms. Leaving Montana. Grief and loss. All of it. Leaving the comfortable and familiar and embracing the unknown.

I don’t really remember exactly how it came about or what inspired it, but the idea of “supplanting” is why we chose the name “Jacob” for our firstborn. I know it’s not the technical definition of the word or meaning of the name, but we were trying to capture the idea of being willing to uproot something that was fruitful so that something more fruitful could take its place. Or maybe it could be more fruitful planted elsewhere. The idea of conceding the good for the great. Living with hands that gripped life loosely.

Has the outcome of each of these decisions been an upgrade? From my limited perspective and on this side of eternity, I can’t say it has. Many of them very much feel like Hebrews 11:39b: “… yet none of them received all that God had promised.” We’re still waiting and trusting and hoping that, looking back, it will all make sense. That it will be obvious he was leading us the whole way.

Yet, in spite of the discomfort and pain, our hearts still regularly say “Yes,” when we feel God’s invitation to let something go—no matter how good. It’s hard. It feels like it would be so much easier and simpler and more desirable to just find what we like and settle in. But we just don’t seem to be wired that way.

I sometimes wonder how others observe or experience this side of us. We always do our best to share where we’re coming from and explain ourselves, but it usually feels impossible to adequately convey the mysteries of the heart and our interpretation of God’s leading. And this causes turmoil for a person as loyal as I am. It grieves me knowing that these decisions have probably led people to believe I don’t value them when the truth is I value them very much.

I visited Michigan a few years ago for a longtime friend’s 40th birthday party. A bunch of us guys got together for the first time in many, many years and had a great weekend together. I remember being in tears on the flight home, thinking, “What the hell am I doing in Montana?” Here I am, starving for connection and friendship, thousands of miles from my best friends. And it was a decision I made. I chose to move away because it was a conviction in my heart that it was the right move.

Little things get me regularly, too. Just this morning, we were driving to a farmers market and crossed a river or small lake. Jacob said, “Hey, it’s like Flathead Lake!” No, Jacob, it’s not, my mind said. It’s not anything close to Flathead Lake. And memories of the beauty of driving along that lake—maybe returning from a road trip, or swimming at Lakeside, or taking a scenic drive—pierced my heart and flooded me with longing for our familiar, beautiful surroundings. More tears.

Was Montana supposed to be supplanted? Were any of the dozen or so major life decisions we’ve made the past 10-15 years supposed to happen? Who knows. Some days I’m more confident than others. Today isn’t one of those days.

Two concepts restabilize me in times of questioning:

1. I am yours & you are mine – these words are tattooed on my inner left bicep
2. I am being led – these words are digitally tattooed on my phone lock screen

No matter what, right decisions or wrong, I am His and He is mine. Or flip the perspective (my Good Father speaking to me): I Am yours and you are Mine. It’s the security a child finds belonging to a parent: Mom and dad have it figured out.

And because of that, I can trust that I’m being led, whether I know it or not, whether it seems like it or not, or whether the outcomes prove it or not.