As I continue to ponder the desert – its shadows and sparseness, it’s heat and intensity – I’m feel the proclivity, the well-rehearsed response to flee. I attempt this in a number of ways:
Mirage
I pretend things aren’t really all that bad (or hard or painful or…). I dull my heart, take a deep breath, and head into the fray with a disguising smile and a quick, “I’m fine, thanks” to the dreaded question: “How are you?”
How many times I did this while bearing the emptiness of infertility. My heart was dulled by such overwhelming pain. I could barely breath. And yet I continued to say, “I am fine, thanks.” This desert was heartbreaking.
I choose anger for my visceral response and hide it under a cloak of just-under-the-surface bitterness. I become sarcastic, caustic, cynical. My heart hardens. I smile less. I laugh rarely. My temper flares at the smallest and most insignificant of things.
As I struggled in my marriage I could feel the strain of my barely-held-together veneer. I’d rage inside, if not out. I’d be unforgiving and violent with myself, quick to snap at my daughters, and silent with my husband. My heart was hard. This desert was infuriating and unforgiving.
I take a learned theological route “out” by trying to remember all I’ve learned (and have even known) of a God who desires good for me. I remember verses like, “All things work together for good…” and “For I know the plans I have for you…plans for a future and a hope.”
When being single (pre-marriage) lured me to places of compromise, I would talk myself into the empty platitudes of “God’s plan” for my life. I would buck up, straighten my back, and endlessly recite any series of words that would offer me some explanation. This desert was excruciatingly lonely.
It’s Lent. I’ve decided to stay in this wilderness; its wild beauty. That means a different perspective.
Truth
- I sit with seemingly endless heartbreak, sadness, pain, disappointment, and worry – as friends. I pitch my tent, pour a glass of wine, and listen to them remind me that my heart is alive, beating, and full-to-the-brim with life and desire.
- I smile at the mirage of loneliness. I am not alone; rather, surrounded by a myriad of wild beauties. I am one of them – right in the thick of a swirling circle of relationship, laughter, tears, and truth.
- I rest in infuriating anger, learning to see and experience it as a gracious and powerful call to a vision of self that is passionate, fueled by justice, and worth fighting for.
Yes. I stay. It’s where I show up most profoundly. And in such, it’s where I catch at least a fleeting glimpse (not a mirage) of God.
For your reflection:
- Can you, will you name the ways you flee?
- Do you know what is mirage? Do you know your learned and well-rehearsed responses to suffering, anger, disappointment, loneliness?
- What would it mean for you to sit, rest, and smile with truth?
You’re not alone. The desert shares it’s wild beauty – extravagantly.
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{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
Oh Ronna… Bless you. God sent you to me for such a time as this. Thank you for being one of my wild beauties of truth.
You’re more than welcome, Rebecca. I’m honored.
Facing oneself can be one of the most intensely lonely moments in life, but also one of the most healing or invigorating.
What a great idea of using the Lenten season for reflectiveness. I’d given up Lent a very long time ago.
Yes, Coral: facing ourselves can be tough…but there’s nothing more important, powerful, or life-changing. And what a great line: I gave up Lent for Lent! The season’s acknowledgement matters less than just good, reflective, and meaningful spaces. I will hope such for you.
If only I had read this yesterday. I found myself being called out by a new acquaintance. I thought I was getting along well but he set me straight – what is the real story with you and this friend you talked about that is not here? I thought I had really put the talked about person at least beside me.
Can you, will you name the ways you flee? Yesterday I fled into words and talk, about times that are past, about a relationship that has changed. I did not stay in the present but was called back by someone who barely knows me. I owe him big.
Do you know what is mirage? Do you know your learned and well-rehearsed responses to suffering, anger, disappointment, loneliness? I am discovering, with help, the mirage and my responses to suffering, anger, disappointment and loneliness. I need to re-tune these reactions to make them truer.
What would it mean for you to sit, rest, and smile with truth? Sitting with truth is difficult. It is hard for many reasons but in the long run, it does tend to be what is best and should, without a doubt, bring a smile.
Mmmm, Nicki. Thank you. And ouch! Came across this quote this morning (which may show up in a soon-to-be-published blog post). So true. So beautiful. And yes, painful:
“But you can’t get to any of these truths by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth. We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in – then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home.” (Anne Lamott)
I’m increasingly convinced that the wilderness, the desert is home.
You may be very right on the desert, the wilderness being home. It is where I started my adult life. Maybe it should be where I feel the most comfortable. Gonna work through all of this somehow.
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..Carriage House Cafe, Ithaca – Review =-.
I was tempted to flee from this post, because that’s often how I react to things that hit close too close to home. You’ve offered some good questions to reflect on. Thanks for this honest and powerful article.
I get it. I do the same thing. ‘Always easier to offer others than to apply to myself. Thanks for staying!
“Yes. I stay. It’s where I show up most profoundly. And in such, it’s where I catch at least a fleeting glimpse (not a mirage) of God.” This is so powerful. Truth is love is God. Simple. You are staying in the fire and seeing God. So beautiful. So profound. I am honored to witness your journey through the fire.
.-= Julie´s last blog ..Sacred Flesh and Bones =-.
Thank you – again, Julie. My desert is made more wildly beautiful because of your presence alongside.
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