I am currently lost in the book Hannah Coulter, by Wendell Berry. Worth every word. Please read at your earliest convenience.
There are many things drumming through my mind and heart. The weather is changing, finally. What has been hot, humid, sticky, warm, sunny, and dry... is now soaked. It's raining. We went from 67+ days over 90 degress... yes, that's 90 degrees or higher... to a comfortable 77 today. As a lady from Ohio, 77 is plenty warm enough! We would be swimming if it were June and 77. Of course, 80 might be a little more comfortable, but God forbid if it actually went to 90 or above. That might happen for a week or so. In the end of July. But the forecast is looking up, and by that I mean the numbers are moving down, and thank the Lord we should be reaching the 60's before long. Hello Fall! October is my favorite month for many reasons, but the weather is probably the most at fault. The weather is changing.
Does anyone else find their heart stirring with the weather? I feel like this rain is heralding in a new season within myself. A different skin is growing. Old vision is falling from my eyes, and the new sight is pushing through. Things within me need to die. They have come to their time. It is ready to let them go. Other things are ready to have life. Other things want their space, are demanding their own. I cannot hold them at bay forever. I have to be young, as always, in an older fashion than before. The lessons of life that have brought me to this place cannot be left out in the dark; they must be integrated, brought into the house and given some food. I have to. I have to be the me that is now, not the me from before. The me that is now has not rejected or even replaced the me of before, but the old me doesn't fit into these new clothes, this new skin. I have to be stretched and pulled to fit the mold. I want to be. I want to fill in the new skin. It has its own limitations, its own boundaries. But it also has some new freedoms. Together these will enable me to keep growing. We always make reference to our speedy development as children, and for good reason, for it is very true. But the person grows and grows, even when we aren't getting any taller. My thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, the way I approach these things, the fears and worries, the truths that hold me in the ground...they all move into the new form of me as I discover it. I wake up, and it is raining. And I smile. Things are different. That is how it is. It is good. Tomorrow may bring something entirely different and new, or it may not. That is not the point. The point is that tomorrow means the growth has a reason, and will discover a greater purpose and a deeper fulfillment. Time is not the enemy, it is the cooperator.
I want to shake hands with time. And thank him. If I had not been free to move through him at my own pace, in my own way, with these two legs and these two eyes, with this single-minded and terribly stubborn heart, with all my loyalties and all my failures, in sickness and in health, in trial and in error.. I wouldn't be anywhere. Time and Space, together they give us the freedom to grow. God has certainly filled them, filled them with himself. We breathe and we are near to him. We are, and it is only because He is. All of this growth and progression is a procession towards the one worthy of worship, the Lord. He is the final robe, the final wineskin, the final shape we hope to one day fill in. With all of our memories, all of our experiences, all of our loves, all of those whom we loved and who loved us. All of our prayers. We will fill up that water jug, and he will make us wine. Simple, plain, empty, poor - we will come to him with empty hands. Fullness, Truth, Goodness, Beauty, Perfection, all Richness, all Wonder, all Holiness - He will fill us up.
Until that time, until we are there, in that place, standing before him, knowing him and being known by him, with him and in him and through him, understanding what we have never fully understood, and loving as we have never fully loved... there, we will realize how glorious this growth is. How wonderful, that he allows us this time for the journey. How magnificent, that we can move, and be moved. That he would offer us a path, and allow us to walk it. Or run it. And climb it. That he would give us companions to help us on the way. That we would not have to journey alone. That there would be a hand to hold, a voice to hear, a presence to be known. How merciful, that he would give us Light when things grow dark. That the Spirit would be our hope, and lift our hearts out of the traps of the world. That when we stray, he is the Perfect Shepherd. That we would learn his song, and recognize it. What is this mercy?! Love.
The story I'm reading is reflecting on coming to a house, worn out, worn down, dingy and dirty, in need of so much work. But the work is love. It is in need of tenderness. It is in need of detail, of particular care, of serious commitment. But more than that, more than all the physical effort and the temporal span of time to make changes and growth to this little house, what it needs is to be known. It needs a name. It needs to belong. It needs to be someones place. It needs to be known by people, and to be known in light of what it can be, what it will be.
I think about this often. I may have just one pair of shoes, or one small room, or even one small house...the material worth or value of these things is minimal, and may be ever decreasing as wear and tear detracts from them. Yet, a space, a thing, a place, even a memory, is as good as the love attached to it. I will stand by this until I find myself utterly mistaken. Even then, I may refuse to disbelieve this. The love that surrounds something will essentially become something. That house will be as I loved it, even if it changes. Of course, I will love it in the changes, and I will love it for the changes (at least sometimes). But the point is that the love holds it in being, holds it together, names it, possesses it, keeps it from being homeless and unknown. This is so important. My love for my parents is like this. Each has their own definition within my love. I know them like this and no one else will. Even as we both change, that love does not disappear or lose its potency. I love them, knowing we will both change. I love them, in spite of the changes and also because of the changes, even in hope of them. They may be embarrassing at time, or even disappointing at times, but they are safe in the love that is real between us. It will take only a word, a look, or even a memory to make it all right once more. Forgiveness is implicit in this being-in-love that holds things together.
I used to love poetry. I still do, but in very different ways. I used to feel it was one of the only proper ways to express how I felt, or even the observation of a feeling someone else felt, or the projection of what one must feel like sometimes. Now, I would prefer to just be. I might end up singing some song about the experience, or scribbling away some lines to communicate it... but the words cannot make the form as I want them to. Now, this is certainly in some way because I do not have the command or skill to do so. But moreover, I have found that no description is going to be better than my memory. My mind is more lucid than my mind-attempting-to-translate. I can just go back to those smells, to the feeling of the place, to the reaction it evoked in me. That is better.
However, since it is supposed to be a post of a poem, here we go -
If I open my eyes
Will I be sorry
To see this
As it is
Freedom is offered
But do I taste
Bitterness or good
If I open my hand
Will I smile
To discover
The emptiness there
Open and willing
Or open and scared
Not sure which
I will be
If I see before me
What I thought
I would see
Will I trust it or run
To know I was right
Both comfort and pain
Who can control
This rain
If I walk these steps
Will I look back
Regret
That I stood
Where I stood
For so long
Wind at my back
Can I turn now and rest
Is hope alive again
Darkness will never
Be better than light
So I open these eyes
And I look
Lonliness only
Looks ugly inside
So I open these hands
And I trust
Smile on my face
I know not what I'll embrace
But I'd rather take that chance
No life in the past
Where the love didn't last
So I'm stepping up
Stepping into a new
Time
No comments:
Post a Comment