Power Made Perfect

Liquid.
All is liquid- I sigh.
I reach, I grasp.  There is nothing to hold.  All is liquid. 
I want to hold her- I surrender. 
I want to take hold of a solution- I surrender once more.
I want to hold the parts that still hurt and throw them away, never to be seen again- the scary parts and the raw wanting.  Like a tumor, I want to see it, to extract it, to be set free from…earthly sorrow.
But all is liquid.  There is nothing to hold.  The tears come.  The flood waters rise.  I am lost in an ocean of liquid sorrow. I feel…small, harassed, unable.
I fall again for the millionth time into my bed overcome by the sloshing sadness. I utter something immature and weak and helpless. Something I judge. Something that certainly should not come from seven-year-old grief.  Have I not tamed you by now?     
I see the universe sprawled out in front of me, atmosphere like ocean waves.  I am tossed aimlessly it seems in the dark abyss.  A word rises from somewhere deep within- “buoyant.”  What is buoyant?
Spiraling, grasping, flailing- black waves coming and going.  I am frightened.
It comes again, “buoyant.” And then it all changes- the scene before me, within me.
I stop grasping for something to hold.  I stop flailing for a place to stand.  I stop harassing the child within and I begin…to float, to bounce.  All is liquid and I am, buoyant.
Rise, crest, crash-
under I go, disappearing for a moment.  And then…buoyant.
Liquid.
All is Liquid.

He reaches- He grasps-  
There is someone to hold- I surrender.
There is a solution- I surrender once more.
I am afloat in an ocean of liquid sorrow.  I am held by invisible arms in the flood waters that rise.
In letting go, I am found.  In giving up, I am held.  
All is liquid-
I float in February waters-
There is a promise, a solution to this grief problem.  It resonates from the holy book, from the holy indwelling, from the holy host. It echoes through history and from the balconies of heaven and from the inner most sanctuary:

“My power is made perfect in weakness.”
The words echo from when my sister spoke them two weeks ago and I just brushed them away- familiar manna…boring manna.  And so it drifted away- diamonds disguised as chaff in the wind.
Now these very words, this promise comes again and it hushes my self-judgment.  I rediscover weakness for what it really is- an invitation to the powerful presence of my Almighty Father.

A wave rises…I ache for my daughter. I go under. Then the thought comes- I am His daughter!  I emerge…I float.  A tiny me, crying, cradled by invisible arms in water strong.  One by one the words roll by, roll through, in each wave. They now come gently, rhythmically rocking me back and forth- words of promise that translate to a “hush, hush, hush” and I am calm. I float…
I am tumbled upon. I am thrashed about. I am taken under. I am buoyant.
Liquid.
All is liquid- I sigh.

Comments

  1. Erin says

    February again…I think of you, I think of Anna. The two go hand in hand. Praying for you, sweet friend! Sending love your way as you celebrate her life and grieve the loss of her presence.

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