Blank as Black, Bright as Light

Staring at this computer screen is remarkably like flying over the ocean at night . . . eerily blank, just in reverse. Flat, bright, silent white. In the air, one can see the last lights of land, a definite, glimmering line, and then it’s unapologetic black, blank space. Somehow everything seems suddenly hushed. Now in reverse, the light stares at me just as blankly as the darkness of night. No nothing. No blip. No emotions. No toppling opinions. No tears. Nothing.

Like any soul open to the expression of words, I wait.

Time passes.

I realize that my mind is not as quiet as I thought. My soul is silently restless. And even in this subtle commotion, no words or emotion come. In the face of nothing, it feels like I have nothing. And I am surprised! But I have a feeling there is a revelation in it. So I hold it toward the Lord.

I wait—with Him.

Oh, my Jesus. My precious Lord and Savior. Oh how beautiful it is that we can spend our days in communion with You. What a privilege. What an honor. What a joy! Your presence is sweet and powerful—both in one. It’s profound. It’s simple. It’s precious. How little we know! And yet how abundantly much we have and experience and come to know in You! May our eyes and hearts be open to so much more. May we breathe as one and share intimately this place of love. You, dear Father, are good. Your mercy endures forever. We march with Your banner over us, for we know Your love.

These are the things my spirit . . .

Interrupted.

A thought came to me a second time with more fullness: forgiveness. The slate is clean. Blank.
I expected an upsurge of emotion after watching the movie Unplanned. I wondered at the cracking open of something shameful from my past. I went—unsure. Would I react to the reactions of others? Would they hate? Would they cheer? Would I react to what the film portrayed? Would it alienate? Would it blame? I did not expect to emerge unshamed.

My wound has healed. It doesn’t hurt to touch it. I don’t flinch at the light of truth. It has been handed to the Lord. The work has been done for some time. Like remembering a scar from childhood, it is a story in the timeline. I may bear the mark in my skin, but the sting of injury is long gone. To the touch it brings no knee-jerk pain. Now the memory can be used with intention and the story can become an example for others.

Tearbitten

News of a dear soul passing to heaven reached me early this morning--the third of such people in recent days and weeks. I spent my waking hours tearbitten.

Tearbitten is my new word. I saw a word from scripture translated as hungerbitten. It doesn't need much definition, does it? Those hunger pangs nibble and bite. That's how tears feel this morning, a cry in response to the heart pangs.

Now I will say that the joyful side of heavenly entrance is very much a reality. And my tears are definitely selfish. I know this. :-) There is a beauty that resonates of a much different nature on that side of the scale.

If my cries could have resurrected someone, I would welcome that! They didn't even rouse my cat. It was all my soul pouring itself out. I'm not sure what I even want to say about that other than I want to write about it, and this is simply a draft at the moment. I may just need to acknowledge the moment while I can.

Something unfinished ... that's the ragged edge to my tears. Not just this morning, but in all three recent situations. For each one, my heart had previously been wanting to reach out--specifically, I wanted to write a letter (or text in one case). Regrets of the undone are the pangs, the piercings, the haunting sharpness.

Why am I so slow to respond? Why do I bow to procrastination? When did it get power in my life? Since when is my piddly day more important than reaching out to another human heart? Why am I timid about it?

Maybe the whys aren't important. Maybe just my recognition and awakening to this awful inversion is what counts.

I took it to the Lord in communion this morning. I judged myself of not following my inner urge to write when I could have shared my heart while a person was alive. (Not that my heart was important! Dear me. No! But that another person's life is important, and for me to take the time to acknowledge that and express my thankfulness for them.)

As I was trying to find words for a new commitment I could make with the Lord's help, I wondered silently why it was even a hint of a problem for me as I had a flashback to the times when letters from me were unfettered--free and lengthy outpourings of my heart. In that moment as if in response, I also recalled many experiences that targeted my words, hurt deeply, and caused me to restrain or second-guess (ultimately silencing) myself.

It answered my why.

As I sat with my communion elements, this time the breaking of the bread took on the significance of breaking that power over me. The body of my Lord broken for this ... for freedom from self-intimidation. After judging myself, I asked for forgiveness. I forgave those who contributed to the pressure that I responded to and shut myself down. I declared that power broken in my life. All in a gentle atmosphere of humility--acknowledging that I have no power in myself, but it's all God's doing and I welcome His work in my life to bring change, spark life, and spread His love.

I'm seeing such value (and challenge) in connection. We sure do need one another.

I want to look back and say that today is the day I leveled-up in life when it came to other people. It's another chip in the hermit-wishes (my mind gravitates toward being a hermit)! But most importantly, it's another day to step into the world bravely and see the hearts around me. It's another day to pick up my pen, put it to beautiful paper, and celebrate someone's life.