◎ Metalimnion

The other day when I was chatting with my brother, he was expressing his excitement over his recent relationship, and reflecting on how different he feels now, compared to all the time that he has been working so hard to establish himself, and prove himself, and to gain freedom and safety inside of himself and his own life. He feels he has met someone he wants to just give everything, and loves the idea of building a life together, even though past him would have been horrified by the idea of the sacrifices and changes that being with her will entail. And I said, kind of in passing, "I think the point of having freedom is to sacrifice it for the things that matter," and despite the fact that he is my brother and admitting my intelligence is a cardinal sin, he was quiet for a minute before he said, "Wow, that's really deep."

And I said, "That's what I do." (😋)

But in all seriousness, perhaps it is more of an answer than I'd thought, when I look at the world and the people in it, and those who would consider their choices to have been worthwhile, vs increments toward deep unhappiness and loss of control. Our lives are tested by the balance.

On Sunday, someone I haven't spoken with in a few weeks asked me if I was happy. I know them well enough that at first I told them yes... but then I hesitated and I told them no. I told them that I'm generally sad deep down, but even deeper than that, there has grown a sort of immovable depth-- like the stillness of the deeper parts of the ocean that hardly moves except under the influence of titanic forces. 

"You've found peace, then," they said. 

I couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement... But I felt like it was more accurate. Inside of me is a depth that is so vast that it can carry many things at once-- none of which completely define how I feel at any given time, just as the waves that ripple on top are not necessarily of consequence on most days.

And I bring this up because one of the things that I've started to somehow understand... is the weight of the hearts of those I love, who open up to me in ways that I can tell would be risky, but they don't fear. And unlike the theological conversation that I had last week that could apply to many in my vocation equally, I will not share what I learned today here via my walk with my friend. Suffice it to say that I have acquired a list of many people to pray for, of late, and every day I add one more name to this list. 

I don't regret the amount of time that I've taken trying to bring myself to this place, put myself back together to be who I am, and be able to stand with people rather than just crawling to survive. But now that I am standing up... now that my own skin has come in and covers me-- I am amazed at how much other people need carrying too.

My list grows long. 

And whatever hesitancy I had to speak to God on my own behalf except when pressed against the wall by my sorrows, I now feel a weightier task of praying for others not just because they might have asked or to check off some sort of list of hoping well for the people I love— but as a response to the intimacy that I have started to experience and what has come with that.

I've always loved making people smile. I like being the person someone feels safe with or gets excited or happy to see. And I think that for a long time my desire to make one singular person smile or know that they were happy to see me, but not having this opportunity, clouded my ability to see that I was valued by others. That I am. And what I've experienced over the past weeks with my sermon series and the way that people have started treating me, talking to me, and working with me, has been a testament to me of that. I was told that I have a good presence, and that I'm going to make a very good minister. I was told that anyone who gets me in the future will be very lucky... sigh, that phrase.

... 

I wonder what my future holds. I finally feel like I'm at a point where anything could happen. Where I don't know tomorrow but I don't worry. Where I know that I will wait for the love that I want rather than settle, but that doesn't mean that I don't have a whole life ahead of me even if I'm waiting forever.

This is ideal, I think. And maybe what I still experience as sadness will remain sadness... but there is a part of my heart that I also feel ripening into the profound empathy for others that is not helpless like it once was. I already feel I am touched in ways that I never could have been before, because I didn't know love, or mercy, or grace. I didn't have any sense of accompaniment or abiding.

I have these things now.

And even though there's still one person I really want to see again, and I will not diminish the ache of every crying nerve by denying it... their loss was the thing that I feared most, and as a result of having lived through it, I feel a sort of grounded fearlessness-- except for my fear of God, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, has only increased. In the surrender of the control over my life (that I have relinquished my illusion of possessing), I have gained the sure knowledge that all that comes from God can be taken away, and all has been taken away may yet be provided, if not returned. And... I can no longer spend my time watching for the latter, but I can spend my time open to the possibility of surprises, of which I have already experienced a few. 

...

Sometimes I get really tired... Sometimes I'm glad I've kept walking. Sometimes, though, it was all I really knew how to do. But in it I cannot deny that I have continued to learn much, as well as having cleaned up many things inside of myself so that I feel like I am entirely new; and each day seems to have a similar sort of newness that I never expected existed.

I've had a lot of my own inclinations about the meaning of the "spirit within vessels" validated... And I think that the romantic in me is not at all dead, but somehow validated in equal measure with its tempering dose of reality that I didn't have my first time around: to understand that when certain ideals are unfulfilled, it doesn't diminish their truth, validity, or value, but it produces tragedy. And that's where the depth of comedy and tragedy meet-- where, how, and whether the ideal is clothed in reality. Where sacrifices meet value. 

... 

I genuinely hope, my dearest, that what choices you've made in your life, bring you joy. If not-- may God be with you and help you find resolution... and if that cannot be, then peace.