inner rumblings

We know there is some connection between prayer and silence, but if we think about silence in our lives, it seems that it isn't always peaceful - silence can also be frightening.

Henri Nouwen With Open Hands

Phhhhhheeew! There's been a lot going on in my life lately - hardly a chance to catch my breath really. Between decrying the pulp mill, anguishing over dental examinations, earning money and playing church I've paused once or twice here and there, but only for a moment.

Deep in my soul has not been a place of rest either. Rethinking my theology of Jesus and the church (don't worry - it's nothing too heretical!), composing letters to politicians, composing blogs, facing down my workplace demons, considering different counselling approaches... between analysing this and pondering that I'm feeling slightly off balance, as if I'm a cargo ship whose inner containers are slipping, dragging me perilously close to tipping over the edge.

There's good and bad in that. I'm certainly not in a place of complacency or lethargy! My mind is busy, pushing its limits, testing its boundaries. I like that. I'm growing. Of course, the bad side of this is that I never stop. There is no space in which I can examine my heart or tentatively feel around my body to ensure I'm intact. It would seem that at the same time as I'm growing - I'm running.

Running from journalling, running from silence. Running from pain. For the sad truth is that I'm not intact. There is a broken part inside of me that I do not wish to expose to myself, to God, to the light of day. So I run to escape from it. But the brokenness tags along with me. So I run faster, harder. And still it's there, staring at me, pleading to be explored. I hiccough as the pain starts to leak out and over the edge of my self control. And then I suck in quickly, drawing the pain back within myself, hands grasping and reaching around the cracks and crevices of the brokenness in an attempt to hold myself together. And off I run again, hoping that by sheer effect of movement, the pieces stay intact.

Well you can run, but you can't hide. Sooner or later it catches up with you! Tonight it caught up with me as I sat with my spiritual director. Somehow we started talking about silence and as I admitted to avoiding silence the tears began to fall. Why? Because I'm afraid. Afraid of the pain.

It's here that I see God's perfect timing, as if he's been preparing me for this. All that soul searching, cataclysmic adjustment of well established thought patterns, facing down my fears has set me moving. And now that I am moving, I can't stop. I have to face the pain and brokenness - in silence I believe.

Dear God,
Speak gently in my silence.
When the loud outer noises of my surroundings
and the loud inner noises of my fears
keep pulling me away from you,
help me to trust that you are still there
even when I am unable to hear you.
Give me ears to listen to your small, soft voice saying:
"Come to me, you who are overburdened,
and I will give you rest...
for I am gentle and humble of heart."
Let that loving voice be my guide.
Amen

Henri Nouwen With Open Hands

I hope in God's gentleness. I can't do this otherwise.