Wandering Wonderland

“We don’t always get to choose the season.
But we do get to choose how we live inside it. We get to believe that God loves us, is for us and with us in all of it.” Dr. Edie Wadsworth

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Wonderland was a strange place where absurdities abound, much like life.

Planning has always been a touchy subject for me. I like to think of myself as a master planner— there are many things I have planned and executed well. A coach once said I was “calculated.” Don’t love the sound of that, but fair.

Getting married to someone who is not a planner has been a self-experiment of sorts. But it’s not completely unfamiliar territory.

I think the most interesting lessons in planning come from my childhood. I had a lot of little plans, as kids do— to do certain things to my room, to have a certain best friend for years, to go to a certain college or school, etc., etc. And this may seem like normal kid stuff. Lots of kids grow up with the same group of kids and sort of go down an expected route. They go to the middle school they expected to go to, they apply to their little list, they are part of sports teams for years. People become rooted in community and plan around that. It works out for many just like that.

I moved A LOT as a kid. So much, that after a certain age, I sort of planned with hands wide open. I knew my best friend then was going to change, I would not graduate with that cluster of kids, and no, I would not attend Michigan State, or Ohio State or College of Charleston. The road was my friend. My tiny, naïve plans were blown up over and over and over again. I learned to expect disappointment and change. Hell, not even my plan to stay in Florida worked. And to this day, I do believe God’s hand was in that. He had other plans. He was aligning certain things. My point is a lot of my life felt like a free fall. That stomach-churning-over feeling became the norm.

So while I am a planner, I have carried the experience of dashed plans my whole life. I felt like I kept losing things, places, people and pieces of myself. I think the only thing that worked out exactly as planned was my time in law school and graduating from that same place. That’s it. Even my wedding was sprayed with uncertainty, loss, and literally planned it twice. So when people plan and do Pinterest boards on their future, I find a comical arrogance to that. Maybe it’s because it has not worked out for me like that. Ever. Not even close.

So at times, when life demands a plan, I sort of chuckle to myself cynically (sort of the way my abuelo laughs and mutters under his breath when he laughs to deflect the tension of the moment). “How do you plan life?” I wonder like the Greek tour guide from My Life in Ruins. I think the reason I obsess over that movie is I know the feeling. I know what it’s like to have your plans in ruins. I know what it’s like to have stability and certainty blown up repeatedly and plans burning like a dumpster fire.

But life does demand certain plans. You have to know where you are going and what kind of family you want to have. You have to make decisions that shape everything, including your wellbeing. At the same time, I find that life decisions must be held with open hands. Because there is always the element we cannot control. Things fail. Dreams crash and burn. People get fired. People get sick. Trust me, if anyone knows how quickly it can all burn down, it is me.

In the midst of my PMS (it has been the worst in years prob due to caffeine and stress) and general life angst (it’s a permanent feature; thanks to a disregulated childhood nervous system— how is that for therapy talk?), I was touched by two things, recently. I had a rough night earlier due to hormones, stress and all the things. I laid there staring by at the ceiling, sweating, and wondering if I could breathwork my way out of a potential stroke (the 2am dramatic brain is a thing). Later that morning, I sat down with my Bible in my lap for the sermon and prayed hard that God would speak to me through Carlos Pimentel, who was presenting the word that morning. And God did.

Before the sermon, I had been reading Psalm 22. The theme is one of despondency and feeling of abandonment. (Picture Punch the Japanese monkey that I am obsessed with). It’s also a passage that urges us to focus on worship and praise in the middle of the sadness and valley.

Then, the sermon made me feel called out. It was a discussion on how we often make certainty and clarity into idols. Looking back, I know my planning at times was a survival mechanism of control in chaotic circumstances. Jesus isn’t telling us He will give us every answer. Jesus is telling us to sit and to come into proximity with Him. Closer and closer. Because “intimacy brings understanding.” Because He is the answer.

So while my soul was crying out for so much clarity and answers that I have been praying for, for years — Jesus told me to sit. To let Him just come near. And for that to be enough for this moment right now. To stop the feet that have run frantically trying to fix, trying to make straight, trying to figure out, trying to not be a burden on others, and trying to make sure everyone is ok and to just be still.

So, the main morning takeaways were praise and stillness with proximity.

Then, I read a post by my personal coach. A brilliant and warm woman, Dr. Edie Wadsworth. Other than Erwin McManus, few people have resonated with my soul the way Edie does. Her 25th anniversary trip is canceled, and she is sitting in a hospital because her husband is sick. It broke my heart. That woman has been through so much.

But she keeps talking about praise. She keeps talking about how sometimes we are exactly where we need to be when God is ordering our steps. Even when it feels so dark. She is encouraging us with words like:

“Because when life gets unpredictable,
there’s something grounding about choosing small things that feel good,” and

“Even when so much feels uncertain… there is still so much that is certain.
I know who I am.
I know what matters to me.
I know I am deeply loved by God.
And I know I can take the next step.
When my mind wants to run ahead and try to solve everything, I just gently bring myself back to that.”

I don’t know how we plan life. I really don’t. I haven’t seen it done well. I have been trying it myself for years. I have been surrounded by good people whose plans have been lit on fire, too. Every story that isn’t stagnant in complacency or steeped in the control of others has its twists and turns and highs and lows. It has its many moments where we say we didn’t expect to be here. It has its pain and resilience. Welcome to life in Wonderland.

Ten years ago, I was signed up to move to California and take the bar there. Even three years ago, not getting married was an option and potential choice.

Life unfolds. We make choices. We wander. We hope. We pin plans onto other factors and plans. We give it our all.

Sometimes, the plans work out. Other times, they crash and burn, and that fire that warms our tear-stained face lights the way to the next road.

All I know right now is that life is completely uncertain. Impossible to predict. I am so tired of trying to know. Been trying my whole life. It’s laughable. Every single time. It’s gotten to the point where we can’t even guarantee to make it onto a certain flight. So much is in disarray.

And yet, we are asked to dream again, no matter how many times disappointment has shattered everything. And yet, we are guided. In the midst of the chaos— (and I don’t mean the small things we don’t control— I mean the stuff that flips your life right over), Jesus invites us to sit. To come near. To praise in the middle of the feeling of abandonment and dumpster fire. To worship when we are sick or feel unwell. To look up when our disappointment weighs on us. To renew hope. To ask for what we want.

There is a blue sky above, and endless possibilities. You do what you can; what is in your realm of the illusory control. You pray. You take risks. You explore. The rest, you’ll have to chalk up to providence or the absurdities of Wonderland.

All you can do, Dr. Edie says, is decide how to show up and focus on truth. “Uncertainty doesn’t get to take that from me.”

If you are in a place that you did not expect— hello, welcome to the dumpster fire that burns like an eternal flame. Sit still; come close; it will light the way. Hope again. Dream again. Pray like hell.

It’s all we can do in this place called Wonderland.