Value is not made of money, but a tender balance of expectation and longing.
Barbara Kingsolver
What is the image in the emotion? I ask myself. But the problem is I cannot see; it’s dark and feels crusty, stale, maybe even brittle. These are pale words for a visceral sensation that does not make sense other than to say it’s the tomb of who I was but was not meant to be.
Crusty is the cloth of my illusions, a mummified pretending, a cage that restrains us numb to the touch and shallow to the truth. The real is a reflection, unwrapped, exposed, a mere vapor, formless and void, fluid and free, always wanting to be filled and thus accepting that means empty.
What do I know but nothing? The truth we seek is unknowable, everything I have learned is forgotten, and whatever I want to find I cannot grasp. The depth of God’s love has no bottom, but why does it seem I have hit a floor with no door. Is this what I was meant to find? A time to wait, to repent, to return, and to love through the darkness.
Can you find the light in the darkness? It’s not what we can comprehend but what the Spirit reveals. The mystery of the cross teaches us that what we see is not what faith assures, thus the cross is the only image in any emotion that makes sense to the soul.
To be we must come undone, dismantled to the core, because God doesn’t see skin but recognizes spirit, and we become as we are discovered.
We are made to be broken and given. We live life in the ecstatic in-between of hope and restoration.
Trust the light, wake up, and be willing.
