I notice the fog as I take a final look out the window before heading to bed and feel an odd sense of comfort. At 2:00 a.m., I begin to understand why.
What had been invisible to the eye—the air—had become visible, or so it seemed.
The white mist of comfort, concealing what is right in front of me—at times dense, hiding at first what it holds within, then dissolving into space providing full clarity—this picture of life outside my window becomes clear and then unclear like my understanding of God.
I want control. I want direction, I want calm. And yet at 2:00 a.m. in a fog, when the unseen seems unclear, I have no sense of control, no direction, or calm. Or do I?
What if in chaos ultimate Control is found?
What if this place, desperate with doubt, is where peace awaits?
What if in the angst that gnaws at a heart questioning: Who am I now? What am I doing? Why is this happening? How…? Where…when will it end?—is the place truest trust rests?
What if for God to create order we have to let go of the tree trunk and be swept into the calm of the eye within the storm?
What if the wound in a heart is where His blast of lightening strikes, busting it wide open for His warming, glowing, healing touch to penetrate?
What if in believing God exists, we can admit to being certain of nothing—even Him—and that it’s there He can finally show up in that place well hidden. The fog lifts.
When I think I see clearly, do I? Wasn’t it the denseness of the thick air that gave the unseen presence?
It’s here in this place, at the 2:00 a.m. hour, stunned awake from sleep, I lie shaken and waiting. The fan swirls the air, the sound soothes…What if it’s in all of my misguided judgements and self involved actions that have brought me to this place so desperate for help, no where near peace, God can come in?
If air fills my lungs, does He too? Will I exhale and discover relief?
There is no place to go but into the deep, deep within where clouds cover hope. As a grain of wheat falls, death brings life.
If there is nothing to fear but fear itself and fear can become reverence for God, then there is nothing but God and reverence. Gratitude can follow and thankfulness moves one to wholeness. Peace. Calm. Fear of the dark transforms into reverence for the Light. The Reverent One.
Morning comes, the sky still misty with white, a Holy dense fog. Air made visible. He enters in through the hole in my heart where my faith leaks out, where His Life pours in and escapes.
Our gaping wounds, the punctures of harshness, stabs of rejection, flowing resentments, are necessary for His Life to enter in and be active. To move in and through and then escape with an essence of beauty. Christ’s movement in us. Perichoresis, Divine movement. The dance—Father, Son, Spirit with us, living through us. Moving in us. Grace. Gratitude unfolding. Glory rising. Dancing through us. Thanksgiving. The Glory of God overflowing.
(Inspired by 2 Corinthians 4: 18. “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”)