Remembrance

Today I attempted to review the ending of my second semester at Mars Hill Graduate School. What a mess.

I didn't even make it to my class notes; I didn't even make it through all of my personal journals. but what I have recalled so far is that it was a semester rich with heartache and confusion for me. There have been moments of such hurt and disappointment, and there have been moments that felt like the glory of the sun breaking through the clouds. I love dark, cloudy days, but anytime the sun rays break through here in Seattle, my head and neck seem to respond automatically - lifting up and toward the light and the warmth. There have been several days as I walked between skyscrapers on my way to school that I would shiver in the shadows of the buildings hoping for a red light to stop me at each intersection so I could enjoy a few brief moments of sunshine.

Isn't it interesting though that the most beautiful skyscapes are those that have light pouring through a gray sky, sunset colors painted on big white clouds, or the rainbows created through the raindrops. In the end of this semester, I came to realize some important things...things that give me hope that I can endure two more years of dark, cloudy days...or a lifetime of them.

It's not about me. The process, the transformation of a broken heart or a lost soul, especially my own...it's not about me. I don't think God is a crutch. I think religion is a crutch, a man made structure that we can lean on while the amazing, almighty God does his healing and transformative work on us. The crutch, perhaps I could call it community since I am not attending a church, doesn't ease the pain, instead it creates blisters and muscle pain in your arms. The new pain is helpful because it gives me something else to bitch and moan about while the slower healing work is going on inside.

I think eventually, I hope at least, that I will see how important that community is in relieving the pressure off my broken body. I can't end any of this, I can't fix it or make it go away, and I can't fix you either. All I can do is make your arms ache while your body heals, just as you do the same for me. It's a blessed and hopeful thing that in rubbing against each other we are in essence offering our bodies to God for healing.

I have also learned that wounds can be full of hope. I have gone back to the story of Jacob wrestling with God, and I find it fascinating that he was simply touched by the stranger and his hip was disjointed in a manner that marked him for the rest of his life. A wound of hope because it forever represented that night that Jacob saw the face of God, the night he was blessed with a new and redeemed name. I was talking to someone yesterday who told the story of being pierced by hope. Same idea...hope is full of suffering.

As I reread this it all sounds pretty self-centered. But I guess that has been the reality of the past year for me - a lot of looking at myself so I could hopefully get to a place loving others well. I sat down to reflect on the last four months so I could "close the book" and move on, but I am realizing that just can't happen. I have been marked, wounded with hope, and I think I may be limping for the rest of my life, and I am okay with that as long as it always draws me back to remembrance that I have seen God.