New growth comes---Emptiness-Gift of the Dark Wood

An early thaw reveals I have some cleaning up to do for new growth.

            Emptiness, we might think of emptiness as being a difficult place to be; an uncomfortable state of affairs.  But as I have reflected on this, I believe it is on our way to emptiness that we may struggle most.

            The unloading, the unpacking, the shuffling around, and the weeding out of our emotional and physical stuff can be difficult.  Full can be comfortable even when there is little room to move or for more.  The feeling of busting at the seams may be better than exposing what we have been covering up for a long time.

            I have begun having conversations with people about parting with our "stuff". It occurred to me that we do not talk about this stage in our lives when we begin to think about what it means to place our things, our stories (for better or worse) and memories in the hands of someone else.  I know from my own experience and from others that we have a natural instinct to hold on tight, even we don't know why or when it doesn't make sense.

            Eric Elnes reminds us that "standing in this place (emptiness) is the beginning of all wisdom and all true understanding."

            My grandmother's photos have been moved from house to house and some have finally landed in my home...I have witnessed them being moved from their home in Holliston Mass. To the attic in Amherst N.H. and each time I saw something new.  Preparing to drive them north to Maine, we sorted through and threw away what others couldn’t; we rubbed our eyes from dust and tears.  The tears of course were from laughter and reflection.  With each move I have seen something different, some new piece of my family. In this go through I saw the creases that both our son's have in their faces when they smile, in the face of my great-grandfather.

            Of course the frustrating piece of making room and weeding out is that just when we thought we were done---there is more!  I walked along my garden on this snowless February day and looked at the daffodils poking through.  I also saw that I while I thought I had cleaned out a space for them, that I had removed all the debris that could stunt their growth, I had not.  While I am comfortable with pruning, at the end of summer the stalks that had some green and color to them were too difficult to take down even when I knew they would fall on their own.

            I once had a person ask me as he was confronting a difficult situation from his past in counseling "How long do I have to keep talking about this?"  I compared this early stage of healing to the baling out of a boat, one keeps scooping and dumping until the boat stops sinking and continues at a slower rate with repair, and then every once in a while a plug gets loose and more scooping is necessary. Only at these times it will be done with wisdom rather than desperation.

            This is what Elnes is talking about---"this is the beginning of wisdom ...and what we thought would be the place of our greatest emptiness may be the safest and most beautiful place in the world in which to stand."

            To be empty is to know there is more, something is missing, not what was but what can be.  “Fill my cup Lord; you lift me up Lord----“

Quotes from Eric Elnes' Gifts of the Dark Wood --Emptiness chapter

The Gift of Uncertainty--or simply put the gift of saying "I don't know"

“Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty.”

― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

            We are working with Marcia McFee and Eric Elnes material for “Gifts of the Dark Wood" this Lent.  This past Sunday we talked about the gift of uncertainty.  We really don't like to be uncertain as a general rule but it is in this very vulnerable moment when we can be our full risk taking, God reliant, glorious selves.

            Brene Brown did a Ted talk (Ted Conferences on line) about vulnerability and she spoke of how we know that people are afraid of being vulnerable when we hear statements like "I am right your wrong-now shut up!"  It is interesting to think that the desire to be right, the desire to know the beginning, middle and end, the desire to know should make us feel safer yet it often distances us from relationships.  At the end of the day does being right or knowing more keep us company in a way that a trusted friend might?  Mind you by trusted I do not mean all agreeing, all right, all knowing friend.

            We talked on Sunday about being okay with saying "I don't know."  I took this picture of Swan Island in Richmond.  Now I know a lot about this place, I lived across the river for over 25 years.  I know that there are deer there, and I know where homes once stood and what the inside of some looked like.  I know where to get water, and that wild rice grows at one end, I know that children who once lived there drowned in the river because of the strong undertow and I know that the raccoons are enormous!  I know about Swan Island, I know how my heart feels when I remember it but----I do not know what is behind the mist in this picture--I think I know--but really "I don't know." 

            There is something beyond the mist and if you and I stood there together I could fake my way through telling you what was there, and you may or may not be interested, and you may or may not believe me but what if we stood there and wondered together?  What would it feel like to be open to no clear answer until the fog lifted?  Would we turn to each other in surprise or disappointment? Would we laugh or exclaim aha at the same time?  The truth is we would connect in a way that only our shared vulnerability would allow.

Eric Elnes reminds us of this-“The great saints did not become saints by moving from uncertainty to clarity.  They moved, rather, from uncertainty to trust, which requires the ongoing presence of uncertainty…they also moved from failure to faithfulness rather than from failure to success, which requires the ongoing possibility of failure.”

What do I know about the morning?  Not a lot.  How do I face the night anticipating the unknown?   I share the stars with others who wonder with me.

Brandi Carlile sings In the Morrow

“I found myself today

I took my cross and walked away

With amazing grace and open eyes

Even though I’m born to lose my way.”