A still, small lantern of rising hopes
Sunday night. The sun had dipped below the clouds and the volcano, painting the sky darker and darker shades of gray as the minutes passed by until I was left, book light and journal in hand, in the calm, dark air.I can’t say why, but I felt the call. I heard a voice that said to wait, to stop, to put away the cell phone and the computer and the distractions, to ditch trivia night and salsa dancing, and step out on the terrace and just be.
“Go out and stand on the [terrace] in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”Soon the lightening started and the dazzling flashes bounced off the clouds and the silhouette of the volcano.I'd been avoiding it: Reflecting. Writing. Reviewing. Examining.I’d been examining my life much like a flash of lightening—quickly and briefly and unsustained.If I really examined my life, I'd be disappointed, I feared. I thought by now my Spanish would be better and my friendships deeper. I thought I'd feel awake and alive and adventurous. Instead, most times, I feel lonely and small. Disconnected and disconcerted.So I’ve been numbing, tuning out, taking the insight to change like a flash of lightening, here one minute in radiant glory, back in stagnant darkness the next.I sat a few moments more, breathing in the cool air and reviewing my journal from the last four months, scared of what I would find—or of the changes and growth and life I wouldn’t find.
And then the fireworks started. No kidding. Not just little homemade things, but Disneyland caliber explosions boomed and sizzled against the twilight sky. Like the dramatic adventure I thought my life would be. And in the darkness between bursts, weeping willow shapes burned against the canvas of the sky, burned into my brain—the remnants of the dreams I once saw so clearly—the adventure, the learning, the restoration of joy. Quick and bright and burning, and then darkness.And then the show was over. Back to silence. Back to breathing.And then, as if a lightening show and fireworks were not enough for one night, a tiny Japanese lantern--just one--with its silent, soft flame ascended into the sky, past my terrace over the rooftops and away into the distance.A small, sustained light of rising hope.
I’ve got say He pulled out all the stops to point me to the miracle, the magic. To help me realize not in a flash of understanding, but in a slowly burning brighter and brighter awareness that this was a holy moment, a magic night, a sacred space, a sacred life.
That He is here. That His voice is the one that calls with love and grace.And when I open not just my journal, but my heart to the feelings I’ve buried deep within, to the hopes and fears and disappointments, when I finally have the courage to stop and be honest, be real, be present—He will meet me in those moments.I don’t have to listen to the lies and the cries anymore that say:Don't be alone.Don't think. Don't stop. If you stop, the guilt, the sadness, the loneliness, the regrets will engulf you.“BUT THAT IS NOT TRUE”, the still small voice said as the lantern climbed into the sky.
“If you stop--stop your striving, your avoiding and distracting and numbing--if you stop before me,IT IS GRACE THAT WILL ENGULF YOU.”Not guilt. Not shame. Not a voice of condemnation. But my love and grace.And it caught me between my ribs, a pinch, a pulse, and it burned throughout my being, rose up to my heart, my hopes.I am loved. There is nothing but grace for me, nothing but hope. I can’t help but write it say it shout it share it.He spoke Love. He rekindled my heart. Stirred my hopes.Not in the flashing lightening.Not in the roar of fireworks.But with a still, small lantern of rising hopes, glowing softly in the inky sky.***Have you ever experienced an invitation to stop and be engulfed by grace?
T.S. Tuesday: Love on the Move
Thankfulness rises and catches in my throat. So many broken things being made new. Joy being restored. Love revealed.T.S. Eliot writes, "Love is itself unmoving, Only the cause and end of movement." I don't know if I agree. I see Love moving. But perhaps it is the movement that I see, and Love the cause and, I hope, the end.Someone I love so much is seeking to grow in love and self-acceptance. Has boldly declared the words:Who I am as a person will not change. The things I like, what I enjoy, what I do will not change. But what will change is that I will love myself more. I will accept myself more.And my heart overflows because I want to yell scream shout "be careful what you write because those words just may come true--those unconscious prayers leaking through your fingertips."I write it, too. I've written it, too. In journals and post it notes and napkin slivers and emails to myself.
I love you. I love you. I love you. And somehow those words, snuck in to an internal world of doubt and self-hatred, are enough to let the light shine through.Be careful what you write, because it might just come true.And what a joy that would be. A love revelation. A freedom to be comfortable in your own skin. A love that transforms from within and can't help but spill out.Could my own journey of loving myself more lead others to love themselves more?It's too much. Thankfulness rises and catches in my throat.And I have to say, Love is on the move.
She Spoke Love
It's Five Minute Friday again! And today's topic is a bit off the beaten trail. Today's challenge is What mama did. Be prepared for a tear jerker because today I was asked to tell all about what my mama did that made her mine, in just five minutes. Here it goes.GO.Five minutes of what my mama did. I could write five years and not even begin to tell the story. But then again five minutes takes the pressure off. All I can give is a glimpse.In a glimpse: My mom cried. And prayed. And listened.She let me cry. In fact, she's almost the only one who sees me cry.She fought lies. She affirmed truth.With her I could dredge up my darkest, ugliest doubt or fear and voice it. I could spit it out, bitter, acidic. "They hate me. No one likes me." Or let it slip through heaving sobs. "I'll never want to write again." Later I would use it mockingly, knowing it would hurt her to know I thought so little of myself. "I'm fat. I'm useless. I'm dumb."But no matter my intent, her response was the same. She spoke truth. She never joked. She never threw it in my face. She affirmed me. She affirmed the spark of God in me.You're beautiful. You're smart. You're loved. Just. As. You. Are.My mom listened. My mom saw through the pain. My mom spoke through the pain. She spoke words of love and hope and truth. She voiced the Love I would later find in my own spiritual journey. Hers is the voice I want to copy when loving my friends, when encouraging coworkers, when writing the love story of this blog.My mom spoke love. My mom speaks love. My mom showed me Love.Thank you, Mom, for what you did and what you continue to do. I love you.***
This post is part of Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Fridays. Every Friday, we turn off our inner critics and perfectionists and just write for five minutes straight. Zero editing. Just a stream of conscious free for all. And then we all link up and encourage each other. To learn more about Five Minute Friday and how you can participate click here.