Everything and Nothing

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way . . .

---Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Dust

A beautiful day is a bitter pill for the brokenhearted.
As though Mother Nature, too, has betrayed me.
Somewhere a pretty bird hums a lazy, lonely tune,
While a busy little bee buzzes and bumbles along.
And trust, buried deep in the thickest of thickets---
Dries up, fruitless, with the fine and countless dust.

My Manna

I am an Israelite.

No sooner am I set free than I'm complaining about my manna.

As if His Daily Bread is too bland a blessing.

Food falling from the sky saves me from starvation, and still I'm not satisfied.

Pissing and moaning all the way to the Promised Land.

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Remember how the Lord your God led you through the wilderness for these forty years, humbling you and testing you to prove your character, and to find out whether or not you would obey his commands. Yes, he humbled you by letting you go hungry and then feeding you with manna, a food previously unknown to you and your ancestors. He did it to teach you that people do not live by bread alone; rather, we live by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.

---Deuteronomy 8:2-3

Beyond Tears

Beware of an injury so severe, a pain so big and bad or a shock so significant, you get up and walk right after it happens. Meaning, if it hurts so bad you can't even cry . . . look out.

Sooner or later we all have to go through it---the kind of experience that is so crushing, you don't crumple, collapse, or even curl up in a ball and lay in bed for a week. Rather, you sit up. Stand up. Straight as an arrow. Eyes wide. Alert. At attention. Forward---MARCH.

When I was a little girl, my pet cat, Tigger, was accidentally hit by a car---in our driveway---and I happened to be riding in the car at the time. I felt the thud when we hit him. (The cat is not the issue. I'm trying to illustrate something. Bear with me.) My poor mother was horrified and cried out that she thought we had just hit the cat, who must have been sleeping in the car's wheel well, one of his favorite spots. But right then I saw Tigger running full speed toward the backyard. I was convinced---he couldn't have been hit. So off we went to my piano lesson.

An hour or so later, arriving home, I was still thinking about the close call we'd had with Tigger, and I felt I should check on him. He had a bed in our extra garage stall (indoor/outdoor cat), so I went to make sure he was alright after his brush with death and to give him a little affection. I reached down to lift the garage door, but before I had it open even six inches, from inside the garage came a blood-curdling, pain-stricken wail. Tigger had, indeed, been hit by the car. The poor thing had made himself as comfortable as possible in his bed, but he was suffering tremendously.

As my parents frantically made arrangements to bring Tigger to the vet, I was still in denial. How could he have run like that if he was hurt so bad? He's not really hurt. He must be fine.

But he wasn't fine.

My mom explained to me that sometimes when an animal is badly hurt, it can still run in that moment, as a means of protection or survival.

Weird.

This gets me to thinking about the time I was in a car accident. Late at night, driving in a wicked snowstorm, I pulled out in front someone who didn't have his lights on. I never saw him coming. I was talking to my boyfriend when, midsentence, WHAM. Neither of us was really hurt, just minor whiplash, but the jolt was violent and rattled my brains something awful. As my boyfriend got out of the car to figure out what happened, assess the damage, and check on the other driver, it became evident that I was struck dumb. Not dumb as in couldn't speak, dumb as in silly---I hysterically made random, nonsensical demands---Where are my cigarettes? Where is my hat? I need to find my hat! Where is it? My hat! My boyfriend looked at me like I was nuts. He couldn't figure out what I was talking about. It wasn't until later that I realized I was speaking out of shock.

But that shock (which, looking back, is actually kind of funny) was nothing, of course, compared to the recent and far more shocking shock of having my wedding called off (which, looking back, is not funny at all). And as for the pain of the thing, sometimes I think I'd be better off having been run over in my driveway.

I have to admit---I was numb for a while---and instead of falling down, I took off. A wounded animal. Running on broken legs. Trying to survive.

A young girl in a wreck, talking gibberish.

And now, as the shock begins to subside . . . and I'm coming to my senses . . . it's time to get out to see if I'm totaled.

I'm not running anymore. And as I curl up in bed . . . I lie down to lick my wounds . . . the adrenaline is wearing off . . . and I'm beginning to realize . . .

It hurts like a -----.

A Thin Line

Can you distinguish between:

miscommunication and disagreement

giving up and letting go

unconditional love and codependence

conviction and emotion

cautiousness and mistrust

reasons and excuses

the Lord's will and your own

the truth and a lie

I don't know if I can.

The Nature of Hope

Today feels like spring here in Nashville. Driving home from work in the dusk instead of the dark, the smell of a warmer season enters an open window and an open heart. Thoughts of spring thaw winter's frozen dreams and stir the sagging spirit like a promise or a proverb. A vision of what may come---or what is not here. Now the sun is set. The gentle wind whispers warm hope, but beneath it, a subtle chill of caution . . . Don't pull the wishbone, child, it ain't dry . . . and I close a reluctant window. It feels like spring. But it's not.

Above all else, guard your heart,
for it is the wellspring of life.
---Proverbs 4:23

An American Girl

A little too much blush covers skin that's a little too pale.
A-little-too-heavy eyeliner hides eyes that cry a little too hard.
A little too clever an outfit distracts from unwashed curls that are a little too tangly.

Up, up, and away she goes . . . to Target to buy a little too much shit.

God's Love is Why

Then Absalom said . . . "please let my brother Amnon come with us." . . . [and later] Absalom ordered his men, "Listen! When Amnon is in high spirits from drinking wine and I say to you, 'Strike Amnon down,' then kill him" . . . So Absalom's men did to Amnon what Absalom had ordered. . . . And David mourned many days for his son Amnon . . . And King David, [once] reconciled to Amnon’s death, longed to be reunited with his son Absalom (2 Samuel 13:37-39 NLT).
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You know, the thing about reconciliation is that it is BEAUTIFUL.

I mean to tell you that there is SPLENDOR in it.

There is ecstasy in its irony, beauty in its brokenness, righteousness in its acceptance, holiness in its humility, humanity in its need, unconditionality in its generosity, and passion in its mad and merciful love.

I have FELT this paradoxical perfection.

I have also felt its PAIN, because before I could RECONCILE WITH the one who broke my heart, I had to first BE RECONCILED TO a pain so robust it kicked the breath right out of my gut.

I had to reconcile myself to the Lord---to His will.

And before I could do that, I had to reconcile myself to many impassable truths. I had to let go.

Is there anything more difficult? The climax of pain right before we finally accept and let go . . . we're talking searing agony. A raked-over-the-coals, soaked-in-scalding-hot-sorrow, wracked-with-sobs kind of feeling.

But those agonizing, panicky few seconds before you jump---aren't they so much worse than the fall itself?

Once I reconciled myself to the difficult truth, once I let go, once I jumped . . . then came the most unbelievable rush of love, relief, peace . . . and then a longing for reconciliation with my enemy.

The Catholic Sacrament of Reconciliation (also known as the Sacrament of Penance, or Penance and Reconciliation) has three elements: conversion, confession, and celebration. I'm not a Catholic, but these three elements ring through my heart with peals of clarity and resounding truth.

First, conversion. Oh yes, as I was reconciled to difficult truths about myself, as I began to finally listen to the whispers of the Holy Spirit, a remarkable change was set in motion within my heart. And it continues.

Second, this undeniable change I felt inevitably brought me to a point of confession. I became willing to speak honestly about who I am, regardless of the consequences, to break the chains of fear that cause me to pretend to be something better than I am. I confessed. Out loud. To the Lord and to my family and even to my enemy. And as a result, a new sense of freedom, a renewed integrity, and a better kind of communication were borne in my relationship with the Lord and the people in my life: Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body. As a result, he has brought you into his own presence, and you are holy and blameless as you stand before him without a single fault (Colossians 1:22).

Celebration came next. And I can say with a sincerity I save for only the most precious and truthful of words: the pure bliss of reconciliation cannot be contained within our imperfect bodies. Not at all. It brims over uncontrollably like tears of joy from the bluest, most beautiful eyes you have ever seen.

What is the ultimate representation of love, after all? Reconciliation. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16). . . . God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself . . . And he gave us this wonderful message of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:19).

So for those who wonder why after all that has happened between us, I forgive him, I confess to him, and I unabashedly celebrate him . . . God's love is why.

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[[This famous sculpture by Josefina de Vasconcellos is called Reconciliation. Originally created in 1977 and entitled Reunion, Reconciliation depicts a man and woman embracing each other across barbed wire. De Vasconcellos said: "The sculpture was originally conceived in the aftermath of the War. Europe was in shock, people were stunned. I read in a newspaper about a woman who crossed Europe on foot to find her husband, and I was so moved that I made the sculpture."

In 1995 (to mark the 50th anniversary of the end of World War II) bronze casts of this sculpture were placed in the ruins of Coventry Cathedral and in the Hiroshima Peace Park in Japan.]]
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So if you are presenting a sacrifice at the altar in the Temple and you suddenly remember that someone has something against you, leave your sacrifice there at the altar. Go and be reconciled to that person. Then come and offer your sacrifice to God (Matthew 5:23-24).

Anybody Could See

Changed, I headed back through the mud. I was drenched; anybody could see it was time to come in out of the rain.

---John Knowles, A Separate Peace

I Can't See

Last night, through tears, I whimpered a childish plea for my life to be "normal" and "easy" and "clear."

I am continuously at war.

Pervasive fatigue and now this ubiquitous disorientation . . .

I can't figure things out. I don't know what I am supposed to do.

I am so turned around I don't know what or who is real.

Blinded. I can't see a thing. My hands reach out to find dark, dense emptiness---nothing to guide me.

How do I follow if I can't see?

I don't dare move.

I lack the faith.