Shed the Old, Put on the New

Sometimes we have to shed the old before we can put on the new.

Some call it autumn. I call it fall. Whatever you call it, it’s a time of shedding the old. The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer. The sun doesn’t even stand at the top of the earth like it did back in the summer. It sits closer to the horizon and casts longer shadows.

I’ve never really been a fan of fall, because it seems to me that the earth is dying. The leaves begin loosening their grip and dropping to the ground, only to be trampled underfoot and create organic matter. Rotting organic matter.

There have been times in my life when I felt like a leaf. Losing control. Falling to the ground. Being trampled. Rotting.

During the months that we were coming to grips with our past choices, my husband and I lost control. We revisited the times of bad decisions. We relived them. And it hurt.

Our hearts could hardly take all that came rushing back.

We wondered if we should’ve just kept it safely hidden. Tucked away where no one could see.  You know what they say: What they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

But secrets live in darkness. And don’t think that darkness holds back growth, because it doesn’t.

Darkness grows bitterness.

Anger.

Resentment.

Fear.

Guilt.

Shame.

The Enemy works best in darkness. David dealt with it in Psalm 143

“The enemy pursues me; he crushes me to the ground;

He makes me dwell in darkness like those long dead.

So my spirit grows faint within me;

My heart within me is dismayed.”

I started dealing with my darkness in October 2000. It had haunted me for almost a decade.

Just like the leaves, I had lost my grip. My control over the secrets was pouring out in fear, anxiety, and panic.

It was eating me alive.

As God asked me to lay my secrets down and trust him with them, I was excited to hand over the burden, but I was scared of what that meant.

When the secrets came out, so did the lies. So did the details. Details that had been buried deep within my soul for years, hoping to be forgotten.

 They weren’t.

They grew in darkness.

The light of exposing them was sometimes blinding.

I found myself on a beautiful fall day down on my knees in the driveway behind our house. The leaves had covered the gravel and made a soft place to land, but I collapsed into a heap of hard details.

Details of death and deceit. Waywardness and wandering. Darkness and destruction.

I shouted at God asking him why it was so hard.

I cursed him.

He had promised to bring me healing, but my wounds were open and raw. They gushed regret and shame. They ached.

I was lying in a heap of despair as more leaves fell around me. It didn’t seem that God was keeping his end of the bargain. He had said in Psalm 145:13, “The Lord is faithful to all his promises and loving toward all He has made.”

But wait, God. You said that you are light and in you there is no darkness at all (1 John 1:5). I felt like I was in the pit of hell as I laid there in that bed of gold and orange. Pure hell. Where was the light?

But as I read on a little further in Psalm 145 I see this:

“The Lord upholds all those who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down…

The Lord is righteous in all his ways and loving toward all he has made.

The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.”

There it is. Truth.

In order to experience the healing, I had to drudge through truth. Truth about a spur-of-the-moment abortion. Truth about the destructive behaviors that followed.

Just like a languishing leaf loosens its grip and falls to the ground, I had to let go. I had to throw my truth out—not sure where it would land—and let God work it out.

There were days I thought I would die from the weight of the truth. Days that I imagined the worst outcomes. Days that I wondered if we would make it through alive and intact.

But, just like the fallen leaf that gets trampled and crushed, I had to lay there. I had to fall and bow down in order to be lifted up.

I wanted to be healed, but first I had to be broken.

Further in Psalms, David says this about God:

“He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them. The Lord watches over all who love him, but all the wicked he will destroy.”

God knew my desires for truth. He knew my desires to be healed. I had about destroyed my own life in wickedness, and now I needed truth and healing.

After a period of time and some long, hard days reviewing the details, He lifted me up. He healed me. He healed our marriage. He healed my fears.

He’s still healing me.

And he will continue to heal me when—like a beautiful gold leaf—I fall and bow down in brokenness before him.

So, friends, what is it that you’re gripping? What do you need to let go of so God can lift you up?

Is there a secret you need to surrender?

Is it the burden of unforgiveness or anger?

Maybe it’s the heaviness of heartbreak.

Whatever it is, be a leaf.

Let go. Be trampled. Let your fears and secrets rot.

Then watch the love of Jesus grow something beautiful out of that organic matter as He lifts you up.

Shed the old. Put on the new.

I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;

He heard my cry for mercy.

Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live. Psalm 116:1