Sleeping and Waking

 

“Developing”

I once heard a story about a woman who had lost her daughter, and was grieving, only to encounter a young girl who was grieving her own mother. 

I, too, have had great wounds healed by a light that shone the exact opposite colour of what I had come to believe about myself, and the experience made me remember my own value. Where I'd felt neglected, I was seen; where I'd felt small, I felt safe to be radiant; and yet, there were no strings, just light. Suddenly, where I had always been with someone, but alone... well, now I am still alone, but also... never truly. The human heart in me keeps all I can carry of the experiences close to my chest, though I know there is no real need, despite my continued desire-- not when the scaffolding is built into the final structure. 

Grace painted me back into myself, but using a negative image, like a photographic reversal. Every scarred lesson has being gently undone, in a way that I could never have anticipated, written, or imagined. 

Ah... But I am only allowed to look forward.

And I wonder, as I wander… what else might come this way?

Because if life can give back what was taken, then maybe there is even more that I have yet to see, that never would have been within my reach before. All the gifts I want to share, and dare to dream to receive. Maybe there are more encounters, more places, more moments where I’ll say, “Ah, there you are; I didn’t even know I’d been waiting for you.”

I don’t know what form these will take. A friend. A word. Another moment in my own head, or talking to God, by open water...

In any event, it does feel safe now to trust that God's grace knows the shape of what I lack.

 

“Diving the Rod”

When has a story reached its last page, and when is it simply setting up for a sequel? When is a new book beginning, and when has one simply walked into a prologue? I am learning that I do not know, and as usual, only One does. The first and last pages of all sorts of parts of our lives seem to be only noticeable in retrospect, and depend on the length of the volume being examined. Isn't it interesting how some books take years, and others may focus on the events of a single day? 

When we are tired, Hope says, "You might be almost there." Faith says, "Watch God's will be done."

Perhaps in the ambiguity, there is no emotion to feel but hope, because surely if one were to walk the line, and felt uncomfortable in the liminal space, it would be the option with the most to gain upon choosing... because where sorrow has its place, it will drag one down, into stagnation, but hope leads us forward to what may be something unexpected that we would never have seen, if we'd stopped walking. And through it all, our hearts needn't close, because somewhere beyond what we can see, the Author still writes.

 

“Sleeping and Waking”

I had another dream last night that was simple, and short, but left me with an answer to a question I have been pondering for some time: "Does God ever get lonely? Does God need comfort? And how?" And of course there is a good deal of personification going on here, although the Bible does do so at various points... enough for me to believe it's not too much of a stretch. I often imagine it is simply a matter of approximation for our benefit, and that God's experience is something like a lake compared to a raindrop.

That said, scripture talks of God missing Moses, who spoke to him as a friend. I imagine it's difficult to make friends, when you are God. That must be painful... And who comforts the comforter?

Anyway, I woke up this morning feeling that God feels loved when we show that we trust him enough to give ourselves to him in prayer, distress, and in joy. Like a parent feels loved when a child runs to them, and quiets in their arms. Like we always look to the person we love the most, in a room. There is something about comforting something smaller than you, that vicariously soothes the aching parts of our own hearts.

It makes me wonder about all the times I thought I might show my devotion through strength of will, when it may have been another surrender that was asked of me. How many times have I made things difficult for myself? I don't know. And to be held in one's weakness is frightening... every single time. Yet, it says more than I could in words-- I believe you are who you say you are. I believe in you. 

... I guess what I'm trying to say is: every time I let God be God, I am not disappointed. 

 

 “100 Pages”

I realise today that I have just passed one hundred entries here. One hundred bottles, sent out into the water, unsure of their ultimate recipients, and only hoping they land in friendly territory. Some have become songs I would have rathered not have been singing, and others I would have at least preferred not to be singing alone; and yet this is the kind of chapter I have been in, and through it I have learned much.

Much has changed since I started walking, and only a few things stay the same. I love God more, I love myself more, and I appreciate others more. There is still ache in me, but even my grief transforms. They have been cleaned, like canyons carved and laid bare by a great river, but leaving breathless scenery. I am learning to be ok with it. 

No one followed me, met me, or saved me while I was walking, but this was always an empty hope. There are still times where I am overcome by grief, but I am holding it better now. There are still times when I can hardly breathe at what seems unfair in this world. And not all of my sorrows are holy. 

But I have gleaned great value from finding meaning in my challenges, and wandering has become almost enjoyable on its own again. I've managed to get some rest, while Theodore has held my burdens, though not in the way I had thought. 

 

“New Paper”

It has been some time since my last entry. I have been spending my time waking up with dawn and falling asleep with the sun. It is a favourite luxury of mine, it seems. I am feeling much more rested now, owing in no small part to the deep sleeps that I have been gifted of late.

In any event, more entries will come in the near future. I've spent some time compiling older entries into a bundle, stowed away, now, and I have acquired fresh pages for the coming year. 

Odd jobs in the village have been taking up a good portion of my time, but providing provisions for the fall. I am meeting several new people, and learning some valuable interpersonally lessons, but they don't fit the theme of what I normally journal about and I don't wish to risk putting too many personal things here, lest it be found by the wrong hands. 

I have had some interesting opportunities to speak there, too. A couple messages that seem to have been received well. But this sort of work does not often bring me the same wrestling as I am otherwise wont to do, and that I have taken a break from these past weeks. Theodore has already proven himself to be immensely helpful in this regard. 

But something else... Something else drew me here today, because as I have been freed to see what I otherwise was too overwhelmed to see. I find myself beginning to let myself remember the good in my life, without fear of it being taken from me, and a space of gratitude in my inner garden that has for so long been sending out root after root, has finally sprouted, and quickly reaches for the sun. 

There will always be breakfast, won't there? We never know when it comes, and sometimes it seems like it is only doled out when one is about to meet the point of breaking... but it does.

 

“Anamchara”

Today, I confess I spoke incorrectly an entry or so ago, because I find in my newfound clarity that I do, in fact, hear footsteps behind me. I have for some time, but even as my heart and ears have twitched to what I dared to imagine was a familiar gait, I have of late confirmed what my soul has sighed over. And how gingerly I must write this message, lest the timid creature see over my shoulder and retreat... 

How long they have been there, or if they ever weren't, it is impossible for me to discern. But I feel like my core knows what I had hardly dared hope... and I have little doubt now that they have been just as present with me as I'd imagined in every dark. I am awash with relief to realise for certain that it is so... so I will risk saying it, if only once:

"Hello, my absolute dearest. I see you. Your presence is a gift, as it always has been. I have walked to get away, only because I was too frightened of what I would do if I found you again. But perhaps now I can venture to ask, for both of us, what I could not before: please stay by me, to the extent that you wish... but ah... let it be as much as I do, and we will never walk alone again."

 

“Ripening”

I don't have a lot to write at the moment, but I have started to feel settled in myself in a way that I can only describe as being akin to the feeling of what I have always imagined being an "adult" would feel like. Calmer, feet on the ground, heart in safe hands, and my eyes on God. 

There are no separate pieces, no unintegrated, coloured shadows remain. 

It is... peaceful. 

... That is all.

 

“Mysterious Song”

My heart is captivated by a song this morning... It is distant, but strong, and beckoning. Like a voice of a beloved heard distinctly calling over hills of home.

I don't know why I hear it, but I confess I'm not sure what to do about it. 

My inclination is to want to walk or run toward it, but my feet are in two worlds and while my heart could arrive instantly, my body is trapped in this world and I could easily run into a table, or out into the street, with no compass from there. 

At some earlier time I may have assumed the call was simply an echo of grief, which is simply an echo of love, but this feels fresh. 

In any case, it is a strong call to action, but without instruction, and I feel helpless except to sit with the feeling. What else can I do?

 

“Milk and Sugar”

Feeling like a blank sheet of paper today... Not sure what the future holds, but working under the assumption that there will be... something. And yet as I have poured myself out these past couple of weeks and I am absurdly thirsty today. Thirsty for wine that only Christ can make from water. Can I ask it of him that I be filled to intoxication, or is that an all-too-human desire? I suppose I can ask and find out. I am certain it is a transient and perhaps even necessary emptiness I feel... But I have books waiting to be written, and read, paint to spread and music to play, none of which can come from a parched soul.

I confess that I feel a hesitancy to take a final jump. Something about casting myself entirely onto God's sufficiency remains frightening somewhere in my core that worries that it will not be as... evocative, without human tensions. How... I don't really know how to describe how it feels. I am disappointed in myself, but feel like it is not entirely a moot point. Ultimately I think... Since God is the source, and my humanity cannot leave me, it is always best to aspire to get as close to God as possible, because it's not like one ever does escape drama in this life... Perhaps it is like letting go of milk and sugar in one's tea, only to realise flavour profiles that one otherwise would never have appreciated or noticed without that first leap, and then you realise that milk and sugar actually was ruining your tea to begin with. 

I hope so. 

 

“It is your turn, Beloved…”

For much of my spiritual life I have had a teacher in my dreams. A father, a lover, a son. Like someone swimming backwards, beckoning me deeper into the water, waiting for me to grow into each movement. Sometimes this Spirit would be near, other times afar, but in those cases I knew that they were simply waiting... calling, and waiting. 

Sometimes it would be months between our meetings, but each time the wait between would be worth while, because of the peace, wonder, and fulfillment in their presence. 

But things seem different of late. Perhaps this too, is simply a kind of season, and that they will depart again at some point, but I feel like they are near again. Ever present, ever watchful. No longer calling or waiting ahead, but accompanying me patiently in my shadow, asking, "Where will you go now, Theozete? What have you learned? What have I taught you?"

I won't say that I have any quantifiable answer, except for my being as I am now. Something so fundamentally distilled from the fractured creature that was before. And yet, far from knowing exactly what to do, it is more that... I know whatever needs to be done, will be, but it is like walking out into the world for the first time, where things are familiar but also so full of unknowns that it might as well be all new. Where I might have attempted in the past to protect myself by making assumptions or predictions I see that they not only gave me none of the comfort that I had hoped, but in many cases held me back from experiencing life in its fulness.

And what is more... Love that I once felt to be on the other side of a glass has broken through, and I see more clearly where I can be open, and where I might call faith as my shield. 

Where will I go now? I will keep walking as I am called.

What have I learned? That our world is in constant flux, and yet God is not.

And yet... my lessons are far from over, and I am feeling called to watch and listen. This does not seem glamourous or even interesting, I'm sure, but I can feel it in my bones. I have been hollowed, and there is only one responsible thing with which to refill myself. Or rather... to allow myself to be filled with. 

 

“Solve et Coagula”

My prayers have been answered today, if only a little. The smell of autumn is already in the air, and the days are milder now already as if overnight. As usual I hope our autumn will be long and jump straight into spring. I am not much for the cold. Regardless, the smell is enough to stir the senses in anticipation of the evocative depth and bittersweet melancholy of the upcoming season so that I already feel the swelling inside of me that comes with it. A soul-deep inhalation that my fingers exhale into colourful words nurtured by the brown, red, and shadowy muses... Ah.  

Inside, like the kick of an infant, my larger projects stir, too, in response. Much of my energy, if not all I can give, and more, will be used in the coming months as I return to study as well as mentorship, and yet... this gives me joy. Sometimes there are phases of growth that are not outward, or as noticeable, but it is there. 

And sometimes seasons of growth look like being broken into smaller components, splayed out onto the floor, so that what was once one thing can become a more mature other. So it has been for me, and so it will be for my fatherless creations. 

 

“Mapping”

I suppose I must walk faster with my burdens carried now. Road signs along my path seem to move by faster, here and gone before I can catch them, but leaving me restless and uneasy like I have forgotten something along the way. Each one whispers of a task, a burden, or demand waiting for me down the road that I know I must prepare for but find myself tarrying in that respect. So tonight, despite my reluctance, I finally stopped to account for each one in my mind, and drew myself a map. And with each one set aside, I felt the air grow a little lighter, the road a little clearer. 

There are truly only a few marks ahead, and my itinerary is indeed quite full. The true task is satiating the part of me that still waves its hand in the air, "Theozete, what if? What if!" but it is not my enemy, just a watchful guardian, double-checking the doors before sleep. 

Tonight I let it speak, until it found no more words, and I too, can rest before the journey ahead. It already feels like an experience with more folds and weavings than I've yet to experience. My job is to balance the weight and the space to breathe... I am bigger now than I was, and able to carry more without being undone. But I still long for the comfort of some loving assurance that I still can only give myself. "Everything will be ok," "You're not alone..." but even without that, I do know it now. I feel it in the rhythms of music, of silence, and of crickets at the edge of night... These are the embraces that come to me.

Through it all I will need to remind myself that I am not a machine, but a pilgrim, carrying both duty and humanity; whose weakness is merely an entry-point of God's strength. 

 

"A Lamp Unto my Feet"

This morning I found myself heavy with what seemed like pressing and imminent choices, forces outside of my control, broken systems, and burdened with the question of where my path may yet lead, and dissatisfied as usual with anything that could feel like a deviation from truth and authenticity. Faith is my shield, the Word is my sword, but what of discernment? What can I hold on to, so that I can carry uncertainty, but still keep moving forward? I need to be able to see... with eyes that can see, even as I can only see one step at a time. And so... a lamp. A lantern. A steady flame held in the hand that helps me see in the dark. This is the thing. In my humanity, I cannot be given the whole map, but maybe in my current chapter the next few steps are all I need. 

And in fact, I do have one... I just hadn't seen it in this way before. Now when I hold it, I can remember that God reveals the way in season, for my own good.

And I think... I think there are already some seeds in my hands. 

 

...

I sat with my lyre a bit, and let the song “Thy Word is a Lamp unto my Feet” move through my fingers. Music always has a way of sending our wordless prayers to God, while vibrating comfort into the breast. There are so many times that I can get frustrated with my humanity, but not with this... How blessed we are to find pleasure solely through rhythmic vibrations in the air!

 

“Manifesta”

At the close of this, my Golden Hour, I set down this "manifesta" in hopes that after I have wandered through another portion of woods, I might come back to it and remember who I am, should I forget somewhere in the dark. 

....

 

God: The Source
I am, and have been, carried, protected, and saved. Faith is my shield, the Word my sword, and discernment is... my lantern. The map is shown to me only a step at a time, but it does not change it's depth or meaning, or the degree to which it shares its purpose with me. My call is not only responsibility, but to share the love and peace I have been given: to let others know they can rest in God... even if they must collapse into His arms, as I have.

Myself: The Only Agent over which I have Control
I am not divided. My horticulture, urban planning, and theology are not accidents, but strands weaving into one single call. I love mythology, archetype, and scripture, and see them as companions, not rivals. Gilgamesh, Jung, Campbell, Peterson, and Paul all belong to the human wrestle with meaning that speaks to our humanity in a way that lifts it higher than our animal roots. Lewis, Huxley, Moore... 

My faith is alive, and I actively resist systems that reduce God to human control. I honour "formation," but I will not be pressed into a shape that demands I betray the breadth of the gifts that God gives us, including his Law.

The Bride: The Only Church
I believe the church is meant to be a hospital for the soul: a place of authentic worship and spiritual expression, where those who are called to serve, already serving, or in need of help can find guidance, safety, and growth. My call is to help create such a space, where people can encounter and grow in God. "Stewardship," far from its current relegation to a euphemism for financial supports, it is care for one another, for the earth, and for the exploring or the mysteries that come with being alive. 

And "ministry"... is the weaving of life with God in the ordinary and extraordinary alike, with which we are all both charged and invited.

The World
I love people’s dreams. I live to touch and see souls, though it can frighten others and myself. 

I love the reaching we do, and where we can see God reaching back. I believe that every story where God and the mysterious are the centre, belongs; even when it comes in strange shapes, because the more stories we have, the more we can see a fuller picture of God, and more clearly discern what is true, and is not. 

My calling is not to erase these wrestlings, but to honor them, walk with them, and trust God’s plan as it is further revealed in our world. 

 

“Wet Feet”

I can hear the rain outside and for the first time, I want to be in it... just for a moment. It's one of those things that, if you are forced into it, or exposed for too long, it can become unpleasant. You worry about getting dry, or your books/belongings getting wet. 

But after a while... I wonder, when was the last time you felt your bare feet wet by a small pooling of water on the earth, in a storm? Have you ever let yourself become drenched, as it falls from the sky?  

In moderation, under one's own will, and juxtaposed to a warm, dry place, it can tickle the heart and wash the soul. Plus, rain always leaves your skin so soft... 

...

Highly recommended.

 

“Dawn”

It seems a curious part of the human condition to occasionally need to sit outside of a locked door weeping, even when one has the key in their hand. Because not every door is a pleasure to open, even if we know that what is on the other side might be good for us-- the fact that what is on the other side is different can be enough to have us tarrying far too long before turning the knob. 

And sometimes there are doors that look familiar enough that we assume that what is on the other side will be just as frightening as the last door. 

But I think that... while change may be frightening, what we're really feeling is a fear of pain: pain of loss, loss of grounding, a new sort of devil that might even be weaker than the last one but is too unfamiliar for us to be comfortable confronting it and risking some of our dignity, or illusions of control.

But dawn brings surprising shapes to the things we could only half see in the dark. And I think that that's where the core of Christianity embodies the Hero's Journey, where pain is transformed by purpose, so that much can be endured. And that's the "secret", I think... that life is full of pain and trial, but it is only through God that this inevitability is transformed into gifts from the kingdom-- growth, transformation, glory. 

 

As I walk forward into my next chapter I find myself frightened by memories of how difficult it was at the beginning of my last one. How alone I felt, and how many nights wondering if I would ever see dawn again. In those times I clung to the knowledge that all things must pass, and that dawn always comes, simply as a matter of truth in my soul, despite what my senses could not perceive in those moments. It was faith that brought me forward, not sight. 

But as I reflect on these things, their heaviness seems distant, when I consider that so much of my struggle was caused by my feelings of insecurity over the unknown before me, versus the familiarity of what I was forced to leave behind. 

But I have safety now. I was carried-- even when I was kicking, even when I was crying. I feel it, I know it. Because the one, perhaps most important, golden lesson one can learn from losing what they fear most to lose, is that you do keep living. Even when you don't want to. Even when you don't know how to. Life keeps moving, days and nights keep coming, and eventually you realise two things: 1) That there are innumerable things in our lives that are blessings, that we too often take for granted, and 2) That only God is in control, but these are better hands than our own. When we are stripped of the illusion that we have anything more than consciousness and free will at our disposal, we can build our home on this solid bedrock, without fear of anything else that may come our way. 

This is treasure, indeed.