Systems: One Step Closer to Nowhere

The day I went hunting systems I was struggling. I was looking for answers. I wanted solutions. I wanted to know where I was supposed to go. I wanted to know what God wanted from me and for me. I wanted clear-cut rules, a laid-out system, some way to make sure that my finished work of art would be pretty enough and good enough for God. I was asking for "a routine, a treatment, a principle to follow in my life. A way to make every situation, circumstance, choice, and behavior feel, look, and act the same." That way I'd always know I was doing the right thing. I wanted my very own "one size fits all." 

I couldn't handle the fact that there was more than one "right" in any given situation. I wasn't okay with trusting the system. I wasn't okay with the fact that things get messy and confusing in a system. I guess I didn't understand the system. Sometime during my long argument with God about his "stupid" systems and agency and the lack of a beginning or an end, I listened and got an answer (of sorts). 

This is the answer I received: “Things fade in and out of importance in life. Life isn't linear. You don't get somewhere and suddenly change. You don't get anywhere, actually. And yet you get everywhere.” 

That was a confusing and contradictory enough statement that I stopped yelling at God and started trying to understand it. Here's what I learned—what I finally understand—about systems.

There's this constant give and take, this push for balance when life's systems naturally force you off balance. At times you lose the things that matter most. They get lost. You get lost. Sometimes the lines merge and cloud your view. You get distracted. You find your way. You lose it again. You think you've finally made it only to discover that where you are is neither beginning nor end. You think you have the answers only to realize you're right back where you started. You strive for perfection, look for that one thing that's going to change you, fix you, and make your life complete. More than once you find yourself wishing, praying, pleading that you'll finally make it. Make it where? To that place where things don't go wrong, you don't mess up, get hurt, or feel alone. To the end of the system.

But where is that? When or where does the system end? What will we look like when we're finally done? What are we aiming for? 

Nowhere. Never. No idea. Nothing. 

There is no end to the system. There is no finish line, no intended target, no plan for what it's going to look like in the end. It's a system. Which terrifies me. How can there be no goal? How can I continue on when I don't know where I'm going to end up. When I might very well end up where I started? When no matter how many times I “complete” the system, I can always start again and get a different result. When each step I take is just one step closer to nowhere?

Think back to the puffy, white cloud whose system we pondered a while back. Where did it start? Where did it go? I think the easy answer is everywhere. There's no denying that by the end of its system the water in that cloud went from the highest heights to the depths of the earth. It floated in air, landed hard somewhere on the earth, perhaps detoured through a lake or river, maybe got absorbed by a plant and then eaten by you. Eventually it might have found its way down. Down. Down to rock bottom where it got swept along underground rivers and currents before finding its way back up where (a long, long, time later) it evaporated back into the sky. Where did it go? Nowhere. It ended where it started. 

So what if it traveled a really long distance? So what if it took so long to get back to the clouds that you and your great-grandchildren weren't even alive by the time it finally made it? So what if it saved the life of a thirsty soul? So what if it cleansed the earth by taking the toxins into itself and rolling away with them down to the bedrock? So what if it sparked the imagination of a little girl playing in the gutters and dreaming of something bigger than herself? So what? In the end, it didn't go anywhere. It's back up in the sky waiting to become another cloud. Waiting to start all over again. 

I can hear you in my mind as I write this. I can imagine what you're saying--the plea you are making. "Stop, Esther. Stop! How could you discount the water particle, the raindrop, like that? How could you even think to say that the poor thing didn't go anywhere? How could you look at its journey and say it didn't matter? How could you look at that precious little raindrop and feel anything but awe at the way it struggled through detours, got trapped in reservoirs, lost its way in the darkness, got swept along by an underground current, and still somehow managed to bring life, save lives, and change a life along the way? How could you do anything but celebrate the fact that the trial-conquering, path-paving, tiny little raindrop finally made it back? Perhaps not exactly the same as it was before it left, but definitely still as precious as cut crystal and as beautiful as polished glass."

And I say, "I don't know, how could you?" How could you discount yourself like that? How could you think to say that you didn't go anywhere? How could you look at your journey and believe you didn't matter? How could you look at yourself and feel anything but awe at the way you navigated setbacks, escaped prisons, lost your way and got swept along by dark thoughts or actions and yet still managed to live life, bring life, and change a life along the way? How could you do anything but celebrate the fact that you--a conqueror, a hero, a battle-scarred soldier, a tiny little piece in a magnificent system, finally made it back? Stronger than you were before, more beautiful for your scars, more brilliant for your scrapes and scratches, and just as precious as you were the day you left.

Maybe that is just one step closer to nowhere, but I think that's a pretty incredible nowhere to be.