Sunlight shimmered off the gentle waves of the ocean as I stood on my fifth-floor balcony delighting in the dolphins frolicking in the water just feet from a paddle border. The sun warmed my face even as the air temperature demanded a coat, and I recognized the moment for what it was – a gift – a moment of grace – a moment of space. If you’re like me right now, teasing these simple gifts from the cacophony that boxes us in and shouts us down with anxiety and worry, fear and isolation over the past year has developed into a full on-my- face, sometimes literally, exercise in surrender.
I have been silent – absent from you – because my voice fled. I should reword that; I have been silent because I allowed my voice to bury itself down where my heart could not reach. If I did not speak, then I could not state something objectionable, could not cause offense, could not make waves. I could not cause loss. The last thing I believed I needed in my life was more loss. And, so, as the sea witch stole the mermaid’s voice, I stole my own. I believe He wept for my choice, just as I know that He never stopped reaching for me.
And then, I saw the dolphins. And I felt the sun on my face again. And, finally, for the first time in a very long time, I laced up my running shoes and ran on the edge of the surf down past the statue of Neptune toward the old Cavalier Inn. And I remembered how to breathe. And in doing so, I found space.
I thought I’d had too much space this past year, too much enforced distance from volunteer activities and people I loved but couldn’t see face to face. I thought space meant the signs on the doors and floors of the grocery store and pharmacy reminding us to keep 6 feet apart. I thought space meant facemasks and the absence of human touch. The thought of “space” began to elicit a horribly visceral reaction. But, ‘space’, carried no inherent negative denotation. Instead, like most anything, its truth lay in perception,
Sitting in the back of church two weeks ago looking at the groupings of seats 6 feet apart in front of me, the thought, Space as rest, kept coming to my head. And, as is wont to do with something about which I am supposed to write, it wouldn’t leave me alone. So, with eyes, mind, and a heart that are His, what I know is that this space He has given to us is a gift, regardless of its genesis. It’s the space to breathe and be and refocus. It’s the space to let go of what has been or what could have been and simply hold onto what is. It’s the space to forgive ourselves and others and decide to love better. It’s the space to pray and worship. Space as rest; space as Sabbath.
Space is His grace.
The Unexpected Life 