You must give birth to your images,I found this quote by Rilke on a crumpled up, well-worn piece of paper this week. For almost three years, it was a touchstone of sorts for the adventure I took with a dear friend and colleague. This quote was painted on a plate and quoted in part on at least a weekly basis by one or both of us... "fear not" I would say as we dove in the deep end of starting a business -- "Just wait for the birth" she would say as we prayed our way through a new church start.
They are the future waiting to be born.
Fear not the strangeness you feel.
The future must enter you
long before it happens.
Just wait for the birth,
for the hour of new clarity.
At the time, my life seemed to be in a constant state of prayer; waiting, trusting, fearing not, embracing the strangeness that seemed to lurk around every corner. I wouldn't trade these series of life experiences for anything. I would love to be rid of the debt that still haunts me from this fallen business. I wish I still had my friendship that was crushed by the weight of too many differences to name. I miss the partnership of ordained ministry I had with the denomination of my childhood. I mourn the loss of my marriage to a good man and am thankful for the friendship that he so graciously extends to me after such a difficult change in our relationship.
This week many of my friends and former colleagues gather as "church" to laugh, worship, sing, pray, drink, and discuss "church" matters. I've been surprised at the depth of my feelings about their gathering - and my not being there. Of course, I am sad that I am missing out on seeing friends, but truth be told, I could see them anytime with some effort. The deeper sadness comes from realizing the magnitude of the changes I've either encountered or sought out since this last "church" gathering.
I will admit - as strange as it may sound - that the sadness is in part because I realize how much happier I am now than I was at any of these previous gatherings. For almost 15 years, I have lived in waiting - or as we called it in seminary "discernment." Unfortunately, during this discernment, I lost bits and pieces of myself along the way. It takes a strong person to really listen to Self when the voices of society, family, church - name your own voices - are whispering, shouting, beckoning to conform, fit in, be "normal."
I wish I could have heard my own voice twenty years ago when I graduated high school. I wish I hadn't made some of the decisions I made. But even as I write this, I realize that each of those decisions had good aspects. I guess it is the immature or underdeveloped part of me that wants just the good parts and wishes I could have skipped the suffering I have endured and inflicted on others.
My life isn't perfect now by any means. However, for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I am able to integrate all of my selves - the spiritual one with the accountant; the artist with the pragmatic manager; the nurturer with the budgeter. Maybe it is true when they say everything I needed to know I learned in kindergarten. As I have "found" my voice and my Self, I have a sense of reaching far back into my childhood - maybe even before that - to integrate my selves. When we are 3 and 4 years old, don't we gravitate towards doing the things at which we are naturally good? We love people just because we love them - not because they are the right gender, or race, or have the right pedigree. Three year olds are in touch with their sense of reality and don't necessarily separate the spiritual from the pragmatic or art from science. When I was younger, I loved making art. I loved numbers. I had a sense of connection with some spiritual being - I now call her God. I believed it was okay to love who I loved. I was an old soul and yet loved having fun too. No one told me back then that art and math don't mix; that being spiritual was only done in certain places at certain times; that being wise and having silly fun weren't compatible. It wasn't until I got older that external voices began the internal conflict of choosing one over the other - science over art; men over women; the spiritual over "reality"; wisdom over silliness.
So I find this quote and realize that the future entered me a long time ago - without my knowledge. I no longer fear this strangeness - as an ordained minister turned CPA who does art on the side. As someone surprised to find her life partner in another "her" and not a "him." As a mom who is proud of the fact that her son made her partner a Mother's Day gift this year all on his own - because he doesn't yet grasp the reality that she and I are not accepted by society or even some who claim to be family. (I wish he never had to know this fact.) I love not fearing the strangeness of being a step-mom spending time with two more kids that have entered my lfe. I love watching them experience unconditional love that they don't get at their custodial home.
The future is still waiting to be born. Born into the hearts and souls of all who seek that hour of clarity. Born into a world so needing reconciliation - the kind that I hope to feel some day with the lost friendship and lost relationship with the church. When I found this quote, I found pictures and poems and documents from the past that I immediately threw away without remorse. But this quote transcends the hurt feelings and lingering pain from the past. I am grateful.
