"We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed." II Cor. 4:8-9
We find ourselves again on the ground. We landed with the same thud that all things subject to gravity land with. But, like things with the force of life and love within them are wont to do, we rise up again. Not defeated, not diminished, but determined.
Emotions run high, but convictions run deep. And truth- which we hold so dear- is not subject to emotion, for it is conviction.
We rise up and we recognize our enemy's face. Our battle is not now, and never was, against flesh and blood, but against powers and principalities, prejudices and privilege. The powers that would usurp love and masquerade darkness as light are not fooling anyone.
Slowly we move forward as the tortoise, not as the hare. But we know this: the tortoise never lost touch with the road she walked. And the tortoise knows every bump and every pothole in the road along the way. And is better for it.
I am more tortoise-like than I ever hoped or wished to be. But I'm getting to know my road, potholes and all.
The ways of growth and edification are rarely the broad, well-worn and winding roads of leisure and recreation. No, they are often mere paths forged through valleys and fording streams of grief and despair. And if they are familiar to us, it is because we have known their brambles and pitfalls and uphill grades.
Along the way, I find myself swearing off growth and edification, cursing the brambles and lamenting tired soles and tired soul.
The ways of growth and edification are rarely brightly lit thoroughfares, with directions clearly marked. Instead they are often dark, dim and dangerous. Signs and markings may appear, but almost always in languages we do not yet know or fully understand.
Along the way, I am learning to be less afraid of the darkness, learning to recognize the light that burns, sometimes dimly, sometimes blazing within me. Some nights I sit under the stars and read by the light of the fire shut up in my bones. Other nights, I cower in caves and pray for daylight.
The ways of growth and edification do not seem to be for the meek, the weak and the wandering. They seem only for the resolute, disciplined and the convicted. But, in truth, resolution, discipline and conviction are achieved, learned and revealed on the way itself.
Along the way, I find myself to be meek, weak and wandering. I also occasionally see
rare sparks of resolution, discipline and conviction.
The ways of growth and edification sometimes cross the only remaining bridge between who we are and who we will be. And upon crossing, we are given a torch and asked to set the bridge ablaze, so that we may not cross back. We may choose to burn it down or leave it be, knowing that we are free to return to who we were, but that the way back will require a new path to be forged through the same wilderness we've only just survived.
Along the way, I have more often than not lacked the courage or the resolve to kindle my bridges. And have instead, made fleeting promises to myself to not cross back. And in some instances, I have crossed back immediately.
The ways of growth and edification are lonely roads with few guideposts and many pitfalls. We know of course that we are never alone, but in our human conditions we are sometimes lonely. The loneliness teaches us to appreciate our connectivity with each other.
Along the way, I have begun to learn the difference between alone and lonely, and to appreciate both. It seems I have more learning to do now than ever.
I keep walking for the same reason that I keep writing - because I don't know what else to do. And somewhere deep inside, I have a persevering hope that compels me. Stemming, I suspect, from the same source of the strange voice whose calling makes me want to fall down on my face. Where I will undoubtedly land with a thud.
Amen.
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