A friend writes about the chaos in his life, a room made empty by his daughter’s absence, remnants of Christmas gifts in it, reminders of how painful life can be, nothing but a few phone calls, all that distance and loneliness compounded by what we won’t share . . .
Where is God? Where am I?
Good questions. Out walking, just cold enough for a frost to bear me crackling over the muddy fields beneath so many stars I was dizzy looking at them, I realized I have been working too hard. No, not too hard, but wrongly, with a focus on gain, money. Nothing wrong with making a living, with providing, but undertaken without love it’s merely greed. No wonder my own brain has been spinning, my body tired.
Turned quickly at the forest to come back, wanting the old routine – foregone now three or four days – of devotion and prayer, then words like these, which I love for no reason but that they are here for me, lift me a little, bear me out of that vortex of self pity and drama. A shooting star split the sky for what seemed forever, pale smoke behind it, making me smile. Not God in the Heavens sending me a sign, shooting stars, but God in my mind saying, Maybe this will work . . .
All that is required to see the face of Christ – that interior radiance that obliterates linearity – is a little willingness, maybe some simple prayers. What was it C. say in class the other day, student turning the tables to become the teacher, briefly? You have to see past the flowers, past the geese, and then you really see. . .