How often do I see something so captivating it could take my breath away--except before that Great Inhale I frantically try to document it? What if I forget this happened? What if no one else knows this happened? Does if even matter if I'm the only one to see it?
The beauty and wonder of this diametrical world threatens to implode my being at least twenty-five times a day. At least. But more often than not I press the pause button on my soul, so I can make sure I and everyone else knows this just happened. I've always been very ashamed of this hardwiring. I assumed either, 1) I'm so forgetful and thankless, I won't remember this moment unless I have a picture of it. 2) This moment won't mean anything if other people don't see it and marvel at it as well thus gratifying my own enjoyment. Or 3) I'm just like all the other goofs showing only the pristine moments via social media thus proving my dominance in domesticity.
Those are very damning thoughts. Forget shame. I'm going straight for damning because that is exactly what shame feels like. Shame this thing about myself that I wish were different, but it is obviously all my fault, it will never change or go away, and I will deal with this failure for the rest of my live-long days. Damned. Damn, damn, damn shame!
But when I read my friend's words tonight and connected with her experience, I noticed something entirely different happening in my soul...
An entrancing, gorgeous moment takes place before me...Sweet Pea's chubby arms squishing out of her onsie; Gizmo's half-smile attempting to mask his unencumbered joy; the cleanest, coldest air piercing my nose, bringing tears to my eyes; the rare sight of six feet of scum-free snow...
...Surely this moment isn't meant just for me? Something amazing and wonderful like this isn't meant for just right now in this moment when I'm the only one to enjoy it, right? This moment is so much more than I am; it is so much more than just one person. I must record it and remember it and broadcast it, because surely...surely, I'm not worthy enough to simply sit here and take it in. Surely this moment is not just about me and my Father loving one another beginning with Him.
How can I just sit here? Breathe? Relax? Take in all this glory? No. No way. This kind of goodness is not for me. I either need to record it so I can repeat my thankfulness ad nauseam; maybe one day it will be enough. Or I need to show this to everyone I know because...surely...all this love isn't meant for me.
But guess what. It is. It is for me, and for you, and for all of us.
I have been made worthy at great cost. AT GREAT COST I now have the fullest freedom to sit here and inhale this purest of air. My eyes take in the splendor of Van Gogh's warm, wild France battling my pristine New England; my mind quivers with Frost and Rosetti in a frozen, dry landscape; my ears reverberate Copeland's jaunt and Chopin's lament; my body absorbs the weight of the purest love ever known to woman, wife, and mother.
I and my team have been healing from some pretty horrible stuff this year, which means a lot of exhaling. Think, hurt, talk, vomit, exhale. Repeat. I have been so fortunate to have excellent exhalers in my corner. All of the crap comes and comes and comes and then....we breathe out. We've talked it out; I've cried it out, thrown it all up into the toilet. And then we breathe it out again and again.
My gut has known all along the breathing out was leading to something else, but my mind couldn't imagine what. What could possibly come next?
I think maybe it's time to start inhaling...really, truly, freely for the first time simply because I am loved and I love being loved.
His love is intoxicating.
It's time to breathe it all in.
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| love via chubby legs, braided rugs, and white daylight |
