You Can’t Go Home: When Going Back to Normal Isn’t an Option
By S. J. Henderson
The man dangled freshly minted keys from his surgical-gloved hand. “Welcome home,” he said—or at least I think that’s what he said. With the respirator on, he kind of sounded like the teacher on all of those Peanuts movies. After the past year of sleeping in my Winnie-the-Pooh-themed childhood bedroom, I’d dreamed of the day I’d be able to check out of Hotel Mom, waltz through a door—any door—and call it mine. I’d been longing for the day I could sink roots deep in soil of my own. The day things would return to normal. But here, amidst the oddities of life during the COVID-19 pandemic, and surrounded by the skeletal remains of life prior to my divorce, it was obvious that, not only could I not return to my “normal,” but that that version of normal no longer existed. It had died a very painful, yet necessary, death.
The whole thing was absurd, you guys. I feel like I can say this with some sort of authority, as someone who had spent a morning observing a six-foot-tall bee buzzing from deadbolt to deadbolt as he secured my haven. As someone who had stumbled upon the mother lode of her ex’s dirty towels in a crusty heap on the bathroom floor. As someone who had to wash a sink full of moldy, abandoned dishes while secretly wondering what it would feel like to hurl them at a wall instead.
This had not turned out to be the back-to-normal, Home Sweet Home fairytale ending I’d pictured. This was my home, but not the home I used to know.
The world outside my four walls had morphed into a different planet, too. Quarantine life had lost any novelty it may have held weeks ago. Rebellion had risen up in my neighbor’s veins. People around me cried for a return to normal, but isn’t normal just a setting on the washing machine? The world would never look at a roll of toilet paper the same way. Our homemade masks would get tucked away for a rainy day. One thing I know for certain: we are forever changed in ways that we will discover, little by little, for a lifetime.
Maybe you’ve experienced this in other areas of your life, like leaving the cemetery in a numb cloud, wondering, “Now what?” Or having the breath wrung from your body at the delivery of the diagnosis you’d been praying against. Perhaps you’ve watched the business you’d spent a lifetime building shrivel up and wheeze its final breath after one executive order.
The Israelites of Moses’ day had been there, too. After fleeing the life they’d known in Egypt, God orchestrated deliverance from their oppressors in a truly action-packed, God-like fashion. Plagues! So many insects! A ruler everyone loves to hate! A high-speed chase through an ocean! Magical sky bread and quail for days! Directionally gifted clouds and pillars of fire! So epic!
But, despite all the cool divine special effects, it didn’t take long for discouragement to take hold. In a classic move, one Israelite kicked the back of Moses’ seat and whined, “Are we there yet? How much longer is this gonna take?” It wasn’t long before the others joined in with the caterwauling. They couldn’t wrap their brains around the beauty God had in store for them up ahead; they could only dwell on dreams of an unchanging address and all the home-cooked meals they’d eaten before setting off on the world’s longest camping trip. They longed for what they’d left behind, forgetting that their so-called comfortable life in Egypt no longer existed, and attempts to return would have meant sure and swift death. People who had trusted God enough to walk the dry sea bed while walls of water towered overhead doubted there would be an end to their wildness season. No judgement here, for I, too, have stood in the tangle of the wilderness, halfway between Egypt and Canaan. I have walked the dry sea bed and doubted; and I, too, have longed for the creature comforts I lost in the deliverance. I have taken more than my fair share of peeks back at Sodom and Gomorrah, and, instead of turning me into a pillar of salt, God placed His hand on my shoulder in comfort and kept me moving in the direction of mercy.
How easy it would be to miss the guidance of a Father who knows when we need to move because staying where we are is no longer an option. How easy it would be to miss His miraculous provision happening all around us because it doesn’t show up in the way we think it should. In the struggle to move beyond the skeletal remains of our dysfunctional Egyptian way of life, we lose the promise of the bountiful land waiting ahead.
When you’re in a wilderness season, the Promised Land may as well be a million miles and 40 years away. When what you really want is three square meat-and-potatoes meals, and what you get is magical sky crackers, that’s disappointing. When you’re bone-tired and ready to get voted off of whatever season of Survivor your life has become, well, that’s also disappointing. Feeling disappointment is normal—a human response to expecting something different than what you’ve got. In those moments of disappointment, cling to the promise that there is an end to the wilderness, with blessings waiting on the other side of the brambles. We may not have the irrefutable guidance of a cloud or pillar of fire GPS, but God is no less present than He was in the days of Moses. Philippians1:6 (CEB) promises, “…The one who started a good work in you will stay with you to complete the job by the day of Christ Jesus.” God did not lead us into the wilderness to let us starve, but to fill us to overflowing with every good thing.
Before we part ways, I wanted to share with you a word God spoke to my heart during my devotions on May 7, 2019, almost exactly one year prior to the writing of this article:
Never once have I left your side, daughter. I delight in giving you good gifts, and find no pleasure in your sorrow. Stand firm in my love, then, because I will not begin today to deliver you into destruction. If you trust in Me as you say you do, then put your faith into action and truly believe what you say. My promises aren’t just for others, but they apply to you, too. Every fear you have is unfounded, the trickery of one who wants nothing more than to see you stumble and fall. I am not a God of fear and trembling, a harsh and unloving taskmaster. I will not condemn you, and I will not allow the raised fist to continue against you. The fear you experience now is temporary and will be driven out in perfect timing by perfect love. Rest in the promise that all is working as it should—that what seems unbearable now is necessary to the timeline of your story. Hold firm to the hem of My garment, beloved, for you will be healed in My timing, in My miraculous way. All will be set right again—you must know this and hold it in your heart. I am not delivering you into the wolves’ den, nor am I leaving you defenseless. You are surrounded and protected on every side, divinely covered and constantly being defended.
Leave your old normal behind and follow the beautiful promise God has for your future. There’s no turning back now. He’s got you.
