And so we begin

In the three months since my last post, I have wondered, "How do I explain what it's like to be a contemplative in a society, including a church society, that is largely uncontemplative? How do I make something like that understandable?" After three months, I have decided that perhaps the best way is to tell little stories out of my life. So here goes.

One of the things being contemplative means is that I hold my life way more lightly than I used to. Which has by no means been an easy task. I am an abuse survivor. One thing abuse survivors tend to have in common is a passion to control everything that can be controlled. Because we have learned that, when things get out of control, life isn't just chaotic or unpleasant, but life is in jeopardy. We may live through the chaos, but there are pretty good odds we'll die. So we control to survive. As adults, chaos doesn't necessarily put our lives in jeopardy any more, but emotionally we react as if it does. And we continue to control whatever we can.

But all control does is to stifle living things. If I could successfully control my kids' safety, the jobs they choose, the mate they fall in love with, and so on, I would end up with robots in the place of kids. If I could successfully control every detail of my life so that I am perfectly safe, my life would have no adventure, no challenge, nothing new and interesting -- in short, nothing that gives life to my life. It would be like taking a rose bud and prying all the petals apart so they look exactly the way I think they should. But if you force those petals, they break, and the flower ends up a mess instead of the beautiful thing it could have been. For a rose to be a rose, it needs space and freedom to open as it will. Sure, it needs care -- sunlight and good soil and water. The same as the people around me need care. The same as I need care. But forcing and control, none of us needs.

As I think of allowing my life to unfold like a rose, I am excited because I don't know what I'll look like tomorrow or the next day or the next. And unlike the rose, for me as a God-created human being, there is no end to my ability to unfold in ever-increasing beauty (2 Corinthians 3:18): "And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."

I prefer the rose to a caricature of a rose forced into shape by me. I prefer to see all that I can become rather than hedging myself in for safety. Besides, my life isn't mine to horde. I am a gift to the world. The fact that I am here means the world is not the same as it would be if I weren't here. So how can I hide my life? If I do that, I can't be gift. And I prefer to be gift. Sure, some may not appreciate the gift, but that doesn't make me any less precious a gift. But how wonderful to see the delight of those who do recognize the gift that I am.