Blank as Black, Bright as Light

Staring at this computer screen is remarkably like flying over the ocean at night . . . eerily blank, just in reverse. Flat, bright, silent white. In the air, one can see the last lights of land, a definite, glimmering line, and then it’s unapologetic black, blank space. Somehow everything seems suddenly hushed. Now in reverse, the light stares at me just as blankly as the darkness of night. No nothing. No blip. No emotions. No toppling opinions. No tears. Nothing.

Like any soul open to the expression of words, I wait.

Time passes.

I realize that my mind is not as quiet as I thought. My soul is silently restless. And even in this subtle commotion, no words or emotion come. In the face of nothing, it feels like I have nothing. And I am surprised! But I have a feeling there is a revelation in it. So I hold it toward the Lord.

I wait—with Him.

Oh, my Jesus. My precious Lord and Savior. Oh how beautiful it is that we can spend our days in communion with You. What a privilege. What an honor. What a joy! Your presence is sweet and powerful—both in one. It’s profound. It’s simple. It’s precious. How little we know! And yet how abundantly much we have and experience and come to know in You! May our eyes and hearts be open to so much more. May we breathe as one and share intimately this place of love. You, dear Father, are good. Your mercy endures forever. We march with Your banner over us, for we know Your love.

These are the things my spirit . . .

Interrupted.

A thought came to me a second time with more fullness: forgiveness. The slate is clean. Blank.
I expected an upsurge of emotion after watching the movie Unplanned. I wondered at the cracking open of something shameful from my past. I went—unsure. Would I react to the reactions of others? Would they hate? Would they cheer? Would I react to what the film portrayed? Would it alienate? Would it blame? I did not expect to emerge unshamed.

My wound has healed. It doesn’t hurt to touch it. I don’t flinch at the light of truth. It has been handed to the Lord. The work has been done for some time. Like remembering a scar from childhood, it is a story in the timeline. I may bear the mark in my skin, but the sting of injury is long gone. To the touch it brings no knee-jerk pain. Now the memory can be used with intention and the story can become an example for others.

Coming up for air ...

1-2-3 ... ready ... breathe!  I'm never good about coming up for air in real life, but I'm going to make myself take a moment to do so.  Thanks to social media and other mobile technology, my family should at least know I'm alive!

The work roller coaster is approaching the crest and I'm about to go on a wild ride for a few months.  My eyes are crossing as my to-do lists are getting longer.  And not always so sure I'm on top of the big changes in my personal life.  *SIGH*  I've even taken to writing lists on my windows with whiteboard markers.

All those creative endeavors I was so sure I would lean on for expression while changing course are mostly lying at the wayside ... writing, photography, music, paper making, useful DIY projects (like making my own laundry detergent and essential oil dryer sheets), even just basic scrapbooking (I have TUBS and TUBS of memorabilia I need to commemorate somehow) all just make me feel tired, and thus they lie undone.

Even now, as much as I feel like I should be writing something significant, I'm mostly doing this so I can uncross my eyes and come at my monster work project again with clearer vision.  And yet, maybe that's my lesson.

I need to come up for air (and sleeping doesn't count)!

Silence and Apologies

To my family whom I dearly love ... I apologize for my holiday silences.  It will be better (soon, I hope).  Thank you to those who have reached out to me - even if I haven't responded (yet).

Happy New Year (by definition)

Here's hoping ... sigh ... the New Year hasn't seemed all bright and shiny or even festive yet.

This morning at church, a great emphasis was placed on the word "new" and the message was largely about fasting (before we launch into our 21 day fast - giving up something natural in pursuit of something supernatural).  By the end of the service, the hole in my heart wasn't throbbing as bad as it was when I arrived.

By definition, "NEW" means "taking the place of one that came before."  That would probably be an understatement this year.  2012 is new. It's taking the place of 2011.  But there is much else that qualifies as "new." New relational status. New home. New family dynamic. New questions. New pursuits (or the lack thereof).

What I don't know is what exactly will take the place of "one that came before" in most anything in my life right now.

Vessels

Alan meditating (I assumed) on site.

While the day was huge … my first work day, meeting (and kissing) the English and those from many other counties, sitting by Imogen, and just being around so many life-giving people … the overriding thought of the day was that of being vessels.

Alan, a practicing Buddhist from the San Francisco Bay area, was sharing about how he viewed relationships as being vessels for one another … and in one context, vessels that could hold the hurt and help the other heal.  In one case, a friend shared something that was too much for him to hold, and what made an impression upon me is that he recognized it, communicated that capacity to her, and was able to gracefully support her within clear boundaries.

Maybe that sounds like a bunch of words, but for me it’s quite significant.  I’ve had a challenge with boundaries.  And people close to me have challenges as well (some with running over boundaries and others with over extending their own).

I like thinking of boundaries as vessels, actually.  There’s a capacity, a limit, a boundary within a vessel.  It’s clear how much a vessel can hold.  It’s usually not clear to me how much I can hold.  I feel like I never do enough.  Others say I do too much.  And when I do recognize that I am overwhelmed, I feel guilty.  I think I’m going to challenge myself to carve out my vessel.  But not just to know it well, I want to know its purpose.  I want those kinds of limits that promote a healthy perspective that feeds my own spirit, soul and body as well.  One that isn’t overwhelmed, one that can give, one that can hold, and one that can heal.