For a variety of reasons, this has not been the easiest summer. I'd say to review some old posts and figure that out for yourself, but as past experience and experiment has shown me, I get a lot more depth and texture from what I say than any other reader.
Anyway, Kennedy texted me the other day, just to ask how I've been and what I've been up to. My response was fairly simple: "Dear Kennedy, my summer has not been easy, but it has been blessed. God uses all to His glorification." At first, it seemed like a sort of sell out comment to make, probably influenced by the recipient who would say something similar. But when I reread it, I realized that it is not untrue.
Am I harping on the same theme? Does this unending talk of my melodramatic misery and God's unseen but felt grace begin to grate at your nerves like Joanna Newsom's voice? Not that it's a bad story to tell, if I do say so myself, but perhaps there is still the desire to shake me and ask, "Have you gotten it yet, Christy, or are you still as daft as a fence post?"
For that, I can only say that I am sorry if you feel that way, but I won't apologize for my absurdly drawn out learning process. We walk, we run, or if necessary, we drag ourselves forward on our bellies with what feels like the weight of the world in a pack on our backs, but at the very least we keep moving forward, for the alternative is not worth any moment's consideration.
As August approaches, my anticipation grows. Alumni reunion marks a spot of light on the calendar blocks that I am so slowly checking my way toward, not the least for getting to spend some time with Leah the virtually inaccessible one and to escape work for a precious few days. But it is not the climax of my next few months of existence, from which all goes downhill on the gentle slope of the falling action.
Back in March, Kennedy had a word for me (accompanied by a rather amusing, Kennedy-esque prophetic moment... I miss my crazy Kenyan friend). It was something of a confirmation, but his word was to wait. At the time, I thought perhaps I knew what was meant by that, but I'm starting to think that God's fruit bears a startling resemblance to onions. Sharp, piercing, distinct, recognizable... And there are always layers to be peeled back, often a fresh understanding to be had.
Hence the anti-climax of reunion: it ends nothing, decides nothing. I sense no cessation to this wait, though of late I have been given renewed strength. The middle land, the wilderness between the promise and the Promised Land, is a barren place, but God met Moses in the wilderness, trained Paul there, prepared His Son for earthly ministry and the divine act of redemption. Though barren, it is not empty, not void. Elijah heard the whisper after the whirlwind, and so I listen for God's whisper to rise above the roaring silence and watch longingly for the first cast of green to break through the gray. Until then, I revel in the windswept kiss of His present provision and grace.
I told Debbie the other day that I really wanted to fly, but perhaps that's just blindness. For, as the Denise Levertov poem illustrates, I am already suspended, caught by arms eternal, and that is as glorious a flight as I could ever dare to hope for.
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