An Open Letter to the Control Freak in Me: Michigan Lesson #1

Nearly two months ago, I found myself once again, loading up my pickup with my belongings, my ambitions, and all my uncertainties, as I moved across the country to a new place to call home for a while. This time, to a more semi-permanent location. (A year is a long time for me to stay in one place; hence: semi-permanent)

As I sit in a small coffee shop in a town with a population that I doubt is much larger than my high school graduating class in McBain, Michigan, I’m forced to slow down, reflect and pause. What am I doing here?

A recent college graduate, without a real plan, without a whole lot of direction, with a limited knowledge of the Midwest, but an absolute certainty that Northern Michigan is meant to be my home at this stage in life. Can I tell you why I’m certain that I’m supposed to be here?—absolutely not; yet there’s a sense of wholeness knowing fully that wherever I am, I am in a place I am supposed to be.

I think a lot of people would laugh at the irony of taking a “gap year,” or a “year of self discovery,” or whatever people who don’t know what’s next for them say at family gatherings to get their family members off of their backs. But I find myself in this place, and boy is it an incredible position to be in.

There’s something really enlightening about leaving the comforts of what you know, to a place of uncertainty—the position where you don’t really know what the next day will bring, where you aren’t held captive by a complacent spirit—where you are forced to be present in each and every moment.

Through countless meaningful conversations shared with people from various parts of my life before the start of this year, I was offered so much endearment and encouragement. People who have so faithfully encouraged me this next step in my life journey have brought me so much comfort and relief. When it would be so easy to criticize my lack of direction, or disparage my decisions—people from all walks of life, religious backgrounds and cultural world views told me to ‘Go for it.’

So where I am at?

For those of you that don’t know, I accepted a yearlong position working at Timber Wolf Lake, a Younglife camping property in Northern Michigan. According to Wikipedia, Lake City is the Christmas Tree Capital of North America, but if you talk to locals in this region, that’s a debatable claim. This city is the same place that I spent four months living and serving at this past summer, and through a wild turn of events, I again get to call Michigan home.

I, along with four others, all from different parts of the United States, are part of an incredible program that Younglife offers, wherein individuals have the experience of working day-in and out as Property Staff members, experiencing different elements and departments that make up the multiple facets of maintaining and operating a massively multifaceted property; which serves thousands of guests annually. During the year I will work in three different department rotations, learning a different part of the camping system.

My first rotation placement has been working in Maintenance, as part of the Sites and Facilities team. Despite my extremely limited knowledge, and lack of experience in operating heavy machinery, I’ve been shown so much grace, patience and support from the professional staff team. Even when I may seem to be a burden or a hassle by the countless questions I ask, I’ve been given nothing but support in my ever changing day-to-day role. My mentality coming in to this department has rampantly changed since I’ve first been here, and I’m so grateful. What began as rising insecurities has become fertile ground for growth both in technical skills, and as an individual. It’s been humbling for sure, but so worthwhile. I couldn’t have imagined a better placement to begin my year with.

But still I must ask myself “What am I doing here?”

The transparent answer is still, “I don’t know,” but there’s a sense of hope and optimism in the “I don’t knows.”

For me, that is a huge success to celebrate.

For so much of my life, I’ve spent so much time and energy being a planner; making deliberate efforts to plan each and every detail of my schedule, my goals, my time, and my relationships with people. If you know me, you know that my brain operates in models, and flow charts, and lists and color coding, and systems, and images. I wouldn’t say I’m OCD, but I would say I’m very methodical and particular in the way things look, and how things operate. (Much of it stems from my mind trying to draw connections and comprehend an ever expanding and complex world)

If you’ve ever seen an evidence board on a crime TV show, (the ones with the red yarn and arrows going every which way) that’s kind of how I function when I think about literally anything. Sometimes it comes in handy, because I have strengths in simplifying and giving concrete examples of abstract ideas, but other times it cripples me because I have so many thoughts rushing through my neural passageways, that what I mean to express gets lost in translation. I’m left speechless; or so full of speech, that I can’t clearly respond.

One of the other chronic symptoms of this condition is that I often miss opportunities. I miss opportunities because I think so objectively about the world. If something isn’t in alignment exactly with my course of life, I find myself being hesitant to try. Hesitant to try, not out of fear of the unknown, but of the fear of being out of total control of a situation.

Full openness here—I am a Control Freak! There—I said it!

Admitting this is hard for me. (As would be said by my friends, co-workers and bosses) But admitting where I’m weak is the first obstacle, hindering my progress.

When you tell people that you’re working in any kind of ministry, you are often posed with the questions of “How are you going to pay your bills?” or the “How long are you planning on doing this?” or the “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?” or “What is your backup plan?”

It’s convicting because I know when I get asked these questions I have pretty rehearsed answers, that sounds really profound and put together; but I have often said these responses not totally knowing if I totally believe the words that are coming out of my own mouth, in my heart.

“If I am raising my support, how am I supposed to pay my bills?” “Is this just a year thing or something longer?” “Am I going to make something of myself while I’m here?” “Should I make a backup plan?” “What if it doesn’t work out?”

As much as I’d like to think that I don’t have reservations, about this whole experience, or that these questions don’t bounce around in my skull, I’d be lying.

Here’s the thing though—for probably the first real time in my life, I’m fully surrendered to a plan that’s not my own.

A supernatural, not of this world, divinely written course of life, that I am not fully in control of.

Now what do I mean by this?

Of course I did have some choice in the matter. I did complete the application, and interview, and move my life twenty hours away from home. I did do that.

But why?

If you’ve ever had a gut feeling to something, when you just knew something was right, maybe you can relate. Where something doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but for whatever reason, every part of you is drawn to it. This draw surpasses all logic. Maybe you’ve felt it in a relationship, or a move, or a promotion, where you just knew that it was the next step for you, even with odds against you. This is where I’m currently at, and I feel I’ve been for the last six or so months.

As a single guy, in my early twenties, who’s worked hard to be somewhat financially sound, an experience like this, is unlike anything else. Currently, there aren’t a whole lot of plans for what life will bring for me come January 2021. I’m not sure where I’ll be living, (maybe I’ll camp in my truck for a while)

I don’t know exactly know where I’ll be working, (if I even have a job lined up, that is) or if I’ll continue with higher education? (What would I get a degree in?) but regardless I’m at peace.

I’m at peace because I’ve taken steps to give up control of my future.

Coming to recognize that I can only control so many things, has allowed me to give myself the permission to say “I don’t know.”

In the “I don’t knows,” of life, it allows us to put our trust in something that is beyond our human understanding. A trust that isn’t based simply on predictable and measurable variables, but a trust that transcends dimension, in a beautiful mystery.

As a realist, something that I find incredible difficulty in is believing everything will work itself out. It’s so easy for me, and I find it happening all the time, that I will take a situation, and see the worst in it. By preparing myself for the worst, I can avoid being hurt. It’s a total defense mechanism, (I’m well aware of it) but I’m growing in it constantly, and as I’ve began my journey here, being surrounded by people who are pushing me to trust in a faithful maker; one with a perfect plan, I’ve been able to slowly pull my defensive guard down.

I’m learning to relish in the “I don’t knows” of this crazy thing we call life. Faith and Reason aren’t exclusive traits—in fact they go hand in hand more than we may realize.

Having Faith empowers us to lay aside our need for control—because we can learn to trust beyond probable Reason.

Sometimes it’s these moments in life when we feel that we are completely uncertain of what the future holds that we get to experience a trust that we deeply desire to have, because there isn’t an option to not to.

My Midwest adventure has been one of the craziest things I’ve ever done, and I’m grateful for those of you who have supported me financially, with words of encouragement, and with your prayers. You have all made this year possible. It still blows me away that I get the incredible opportunity to be a small part of a life changing mission. It’s an honor that I don’t deserve.

When it feels like you are being bombarded by the thief of comparison, rest in the fact that the “I don’t knows” are not a place of conceit, but rather an opportunity to find rest from the exhaustive nature of trying to be in control. Give up control, and lean into the stillness of the moment.

It took me traveling 1,300+ miles to begin to grasp that I can’t control everything, nor was I meant to, and that even through doubt, we can be certain of a calling, even if we aren’t definite of the outcome.

It often doesn’t make sense, but in the end, it doesn’t always have to.

We can be certain of that.

-Nick