Lean Into The Blade

How is it that the most powerful moments—the life-shifting events of epic significance—seem to offer the bloodiest, most repulsive, run like hell away if you can, lessons? Yet one can rarely run from the big-screen reality being played front center, where you are cast as both the adored leading lady and the despised villain. So is the way of the well-intentioned life…day after day, sunrise-to-sunrise—messy, in your face, LIFE.

Do you suppose that maybe God sets up our lessons? I can see him; sitting in his director’s chair with his glasses perched low on his nose, “Okay, this is where she finds something very special. Cue something very special. And…action!”

Oddly enough this serendipitous meeting with “something very special” is just the catalyst needed to trigger an avalanche of happenings—all timely, some breathtaking, and some excruciatingly painful, so painful in fact, that you have moments of believing that death would be a blessed relief.

And what does God say when you’re about to bleed out? He says, “Lean into the blade my child. That’s right. Feel the cut of it; welcome the gurgling panic of your ego as it sinks beneath the ruby flow, releasing its deceptive control over your mind.

In the remote wastelands of your soul, not a drop of blood is squandered nor a bitter tear ignored. Pain, a most ferocious lover, will be waiting to drive you deeply into reality where you will finally discover that the solution you so desperately sought dwells within the very heart of your problem.

So weep until all dross is purged, leaving only the sparkle of your uncorrupted Spirit’s smile—Love, ever waiting to escort you back to yourself.”

Today’s lesson: Never seek happiness outside of yourself for to do so is to say, “I am not enough.”

A Romantic Rumor

I grew up with a diaphanous father who floated above me like a caption bubble saying, “?”.

He was a romantic rumor, a previous chapter in my mother’s book of life, leaving behind no photos for his three little girls to frame and fawn over. There would be no frame hugging in this family. No searching his dark eyes for our own, or comparing the curve of our noses to his; no joy of discovering a trace of ourselves in his image, thus… answering our desperate curiosity. The only evidence of his existence was our existence.

My dad was an old movie reel flickering in my mind, with imaginary memories, conjured by a credulous child, intoxicated with prime time fathers, and aching for paternal adoration.

I was always comparing my invisible father to the other girls’ dads, which never worked out well for me. I suffered like an amputee with an inflamed phantom limb… finding no possible way to soothe it.

I felt that I had been gypped by life; everybody that I knew had two parents, but I only had one. I assumed that I was somehow to blame for my father’s absence, after all I was little girl number three, and in my little girl mind I thought that he was tired of daughters. I envisioned him throwing his arms up in defeat when I was born, and tromping off to find another family where he could have his very own little boy. Of course all of this was nonsense, but the actual reasons for him leaving were incredibly complicated; certainly nothing a mere child could possibly comprehend.

Father’s Day continues to be a holiday that I view from afar, like witnessing the customs of a foreign country. There is still an empty seat at the head of my childhood table, and a little girl waiting wistfully by the darkened window. She knows that he isn’t returning, but she’s found nothing else that could take his place.

Appreciate every moment that you have with your dad. Hug him, tell him you love him, and do nice things for him, for there are many children, both old and young, who have never experienced a fathers’ love and the joy and security that it offers.

For those of you who have known the void of a fatherless childhood, my message to you is this: Accept the vacancy in your heart as part of yourself; offer it honor and appreciation. You are the incredible person that you are, because of that vacuum. You have had to find your identity independent of a father’s influence. You have had to be brave and resilient during hard times, when a strong hand wasn’t there to guide you…or hold you.

Be proud of whom you are, and of the family that you have…that coalition of love that worked doubly hard in order to fill in the gap left by your father. And remember, there is only one true Father, and He is of the Spirit, and not of the flesh. He will never leave you; for He lives in you.

Hungry Little Gods

What we believe—we become. How powerful we humans are; made in the image of God—little creators of calm and chaos, unaware of our inheritance, believing that we have God’s eyes instead of His ways. For a small god is still a god, and all gods hold the key. Hold tight to yours lest you forget your heritage, and wander aimlessly—forever afraid of being yourself—of walking alone.

You are connected to the invisible, that wide-open place of white-hot potential, where love whispers answers to your soul—if you will but hear them—great and transforming truths about your origin and destiny.

You are vast; yet you remain small, believing the gravitational pull of death and want, stale bread and dirty water—a prisoner of the grand illusion.

You tolerate your hunger, when you carry within yourself an invitation to a royal feast, prompting you to come and eat—gain strength, equipping you for the journey ahead.

I wonder at all things. All things! And sometimes I see a power within myself that takes my breath away. Circumstances teach me, challenge and wound me, yet there it is—a greatness that remains. It speaks from the smallest of places, drawing my attention from the shadows and ghosts—inspiring me to stand up in the middle of my frailties and believe the impossible.

How great thou art my friend the worm. How great thou art.

Sometimes, I experience stunning conviction, believing that my heart’s desires are my natural course—that my destination is programmed into my soul like a migratory bird—and that the important things hold a strength of their own; they can never fail me because they are laced, like shimmering threads of truth, throughout my being.

The things that I believe, I become—it seems like so much power for such a simple soul. But when I look to nature and see her generous metaphors all around me, I am thoroughly persuaded that the seeds of greatness are sown in ordinary soil.