Fullness, emptiness and being okay
Why do the ideas float around until I sit down with the intention of capturing them? How am I full of words until the time comes to put them down on paper, or type them out on a keyboard? How is my mind always moving, thinking, arranging until I sit at this screen to corral the chaos? Blankness, stillness. A barren landscape. It seems an exercise in futility. I eventually quit opening the laptop. Quit trying to record the thoughts on paper. I let things come and go as they please, and I do a lot of noticing. I used to notice frustration and disappointment. Now I notice wide open space and quietness. This is a growth point, and my reaction is unexpected. I laugh.
There have been many gifts over the past few months, and the lightness I can feel with myself is my favorite. There is a playfulness that has emerged that has the familiar feel of an old friend, and I know my prayers are being answered. I realized so many months ago that the leg of the journey I was on was just hard, and monotonous, and necessary. It was a time for healing and privacy and thinking. I read some. I walked a lot. I met with friends and did some journaling and study. I have tested theories and thought aloud. There have been shifts in thinking, deepening in friendships, assurances in faith and so much more. There are different challenges in parenting. New revelations and old explanations. Aren’t these the things we expect as we move through a year? The changing days, weeks, months, seasons? Isn’t it curious how creation gives us a steadying rhythm? Is it the physical that mimics the spiritual?
Christmas. This is likely my favorite time of year, yet it has changed, too. There are strands of melancholy that wind their way through everything. The music, wrapping, lights and goodies all hold a tinge of sadness. This is truth and it is hard. And guess what? That’s okay with me. I’m finding more and more that I am on a lifelong journey of grief. Somehow I was lulled into thinking I’d work my way through it and move on to greener pastures, merrier Christmases and all that jazz. The fuller truth is that the greener pastures become greener because I’m there longer. The merrier Christmases become merrier because the truth goes deeper. And all that jazz? It is added to me, because that was the promise that was made. Seek first the kingdom…the kingdom is right and true and forever and it holds grief. Grief belongs here. Jesus entered into my grief, and yours and His and He made space for the difficult and necessary. Another reason (way?) He is perfect for us. Perfect for me. He has never rushed my journey, just as He couldn’t be rushed on His. Miracles abound. Then and now. Advent? He has come, is come, will come. Amen.
