I’ve been thinking long and hard about where this blog is going.
And to tell you the truth…
I have no idea.
There are some of you who read these words because you know me. We’ve experienced a slice of life or some situation together, and what I have to say may mean something to you. Maybe we’ve crossed paths and you would like to get to know me better. Some of you are here because another told you about me.
Some of you are simply curious.
I’m sure you want to know more about what happened to bring me to this place of barefaced vulnerability. Why I am such an open book.
My story and my experience this summer is something no one wants to ever face. I have lived first hand the nightmare we all fear. All of us.
And here I am, still breathing.
Someday I will get to the details. I’m working on how to do that. How to tell my story and keep its integrity and remain honorable and true.
This morning I woke up to a profound thought. I guess you could call it an epiphany.
I’m feeling lost. Yes. Lost.
I’ll bet you think I’m simply depressed because of Grief. I’ll admit that there is some truth to that. I can see that in myself. But there’s more.
I have realized above all else that nothing makes sense just now. Nothing.
In fact, I will go so far as to say that nothing has ever really made much sense to me. Oh, I’ve woven in and out of clarity. I’ve had times of contentment and gain. I’ve had glimpses of wisdom and understanding.
But I’ve never really ever had a grasp on things.
I have often walked around as if the ground would fall out from under me. At any moment, the earth could open up and swallow me whole.
I’ll bet some of you have felt that way, too.
One thing has been so glaringly clear to me lately.
Nothing is for sure.
We can clip along day after day working the business of life. Allow our time to be scooped up in the “tyranny of the urgent”. All the minutes and hours and days lost in the abyss of the “to do”. Spin our wheels. Lay our heads down at the end of the day exhausted and secretly unsatisfied.
I’ve watched myself do that lately. As if I’m above myself watching a character in a movie play her part. She’s doing pretty well except for the fact that inside she’s numb.
I don’t want that any more.
Today I woke up with the idea that I need to stop all of this. Wondering. Pondering. Worrying. Simply existing.
I believe in a Power so Great and Wonderful and True. God. I know without a shadow of a doubt that God exists.
I almost typed “he” there instead of God.
I want to stop that, too.
I want to stop categorizing the Divine. I no longer want a God that I’ve humanized. Made into my image. Carved into an idol that suits my needs. Some kind of puppet I manipulate with the pleas and the supplications of ask and demand.
SomeOne that, if I’m not careful, I can point my weak and feeble finger toward and blame. Make my prayer a constant why. Shake my angry (yet loose and powerless) fist at and curse. Make the Creator of the Universe some kind of holy scapegoat.
I could do that, but I won’t.
Today I make the conscious effort to do something different.
I’m not asking anymore. Nope.
Because I want MORE. I believe that there IS MORE. I long to walk through Grief and do it as though it has a purpose in my life. If my tragedy can be made into something wonderful, helpful…A Wisdom Maker.
Then I’ve got to let this Grief do its work.
Face what it has come here to do in me.
I want to be able to get to the other side and realize this whole ordeal wasn’t just for nothing. I want to cash it in someday for something valuable. Some kind of payday.
There’s got to be priceless treasure in here somewhere.
If I long for that I must clear the cobwebs of how I think this should look like. I’ve got to stop straining for meaning and for clarity and for (please, oh, please!) understanding.
This morning I relinquish all of that.
Make an adjustment.
I shift my thinking.
So with all the vulnerability I can muster and with my bare face lifted toward the One.
I offer it all to God.
Do this work in me.
Write it out for me.
Here I am. I am waiting now.
I am listening.