Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Word Up


 All I know is, something has been off in me for the past year. Or two.

It has sucked the pink from my cheeks and and stolen away my sleep. I'll be danged if I haven't lost some of my passion for guacamole.

I've reached squinty-eyed into darkness for words that weren't there and sometimes, I haven't bothered reaching at all.

The thief was anonymous, shapeless, but I had my suspicions. Maybe it was stress. The big kids. The sick kid. The youngest kid. The move. Maybe I was right when I feared my soul and all its color might grip the fences and stay back on the farm.

I've missed it, my soul. I've missed the real me, the full me, the me with mojo in spades. I've felt her here like a phantom limb. I've seen flashes of her from across the room and in between pages, but we never locked eyes.

I started to believe she was mostly long-gone.

But then she wasn't. She was back.

Just like that, I saw me bleeding through the top layers.

And nothing else had changed. Nothing in particular had brought me back, yet here I was, alive and well, loose in my skin, raised straight up from whatever it was that had knocked me down.

A month or so ago, I read these words:

"By and large, our world has lost its sense of wonder. We have grown up. We no longer catch our breath at the sight of a rainbow or the scent of a rose, as we once did. We have grown bigger and everything else smaller, less impressive. We get blase and worldly wise and sophisticated. We no longer run our fingers through water, no longer shout at the stars or make faces at the moon. Water is H2O, the stars have been classified, and the moon is not made of green cheese." - Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel

So, it wasn't a thief, after all. No cat burglar came along sneaky and masked and snatched me away. I walked away from wonder.

Or maybe I faded.

Or maybe I needed to fade. Maybe it was vitally important for me to start to see the world just a little differently than I had before. Life had to be about more than the pale face of a peony or the feel of earth in my hands. I needed to cross over to the other side of the tracks, where McDonald's was as good as it was ever going to get.

So many times this year I've silently whined that my life doesn't feel mine anymore. I'd almost always catch myself - That's the point, right?  I think it sort of is. I think I'm the kind who needed to really lose a chunk of myself for a while, to let go and sink all the way down into the life of Christ that I was handed. 2012 brought gifts I cannot begin to count. It scares me to think of what I might have missed if my head had been perpetually buried in my salsa bowl or I'd been tangled up in magazine garlands.

Now it's a new year, or, as Calvin keeps proclaiming, "The turn of a century!", and I've never been a winter sort of girl, but I'm praying every day for wonder - for the full and free knowing of God and his wild capacity for beauty, creativity, love. It's finding me, just like it always used to do when life was simpler in every quadrant of my universe. Somehow, amazingly, I think I can do both now. I think I've seen enough of everything to know that I want it all.

What on earth will life be like with a shiny new coat of wonder?

I can't wait to find out and then do it again the next day.


"For the eyes of faith, every created thing manifests the grace and providence of Abba." - Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel

Are you doing a word this year? A hope? A dream?
I'm all ears. Literally.