I learned a few things in the great shadowy times of my life. Times of pain and angst squeeze tightly and before my eyes appear blood-stained truths. Truths I can no longer deny. But the greatest truth I grasped on these night journeys is that darkness itself is not a teacher. Darkness sheds no light.

But God.

I hear people say, and I believe I have said it myself, that they are grateful for their hard times because they learned something important. I did, but not from the negative. Negative only drains deeper into negative. My redemption comes only from something redeeming, something Good. It can never come from the negative itself.

When I nearly drown in the ocean, it wasn’t the fear or desperate struggle for life that led to illumination. Drowning is futile, it leads to death. There is no good in it. But all at once, when I found myself grasping a rock on the jetty, my eyes could see, my mind could understand. It is only God’s hand, God’s light, God’s everything which brings clarity and redemption.

There is no light, no understanding lingering in the dark, in worldliness, in self. Dives into the pits of hell for insight are not, quite literally, a viable option. I must join the ones immersed in God’s light. He has shown me how, He has put my feet on solid ground. This is where I learn—in His light, by His light.

What then, brothers? When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up.     1 Corinthians 14:26

 

One day in June my car turned left instead of right and I traveled down highways and over marshy bridges to the shore, to the very peninsula of New Jersey, the place of my birth. There is a nature wetlands preserve there by the sea, a restorative point of rest for migrating birds and butterflies and humans seeking respite.

I was walking back toward the lighthouse when a dreamy view drew me down off a gravelly road. A circle of swans stood quietly in the shallows and I was transfixed by the heavenly aura around them. Mist softened the scene like a Monet yet the feathery white creatures, serene and preening in one accord, reflected exquisitely on the placid water. They were like angels convening in the Holy Presence and I wished in that moment I were immersed with them .

Later I would tell a dear friend of this day and she talked of the retreat center nearby. Two months later I was in that heavenly house, gathered in worship and sublime silence for eight days. I gathered with women who love the Lord, seek Him, whisper His name and listen for His voice.

Are my close relationships ones in which I share and delve in the Divine? If not, I walk a dry, dusty road of dearth, going the way of distractions, disregarding the sweet dew of grace. God wants me bathing in His holiness in the midst of His saints.

Walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harm. Proverbs 13:20

These depressions in a pond’s sandy bottom are referred to as “bowers.” Male fish build them for the purpose of attracting females for spawning. They fill their mouths with sand and blow it into piles, then skim along nudging the sides into perfectly round arenas for business. When another male swims through to admire or perhaps claim the spot as his own, the builder drives him away at once, then returns to his work.  Ordinarily the fish is just a fish, his mouth pulling in water, his gills swirling it out, but for this most extraordinary work, the fish becomes a sculptor.  

Once I came to know Jesus, my days were no longer for swimming along with the current, nosing around satisfying desires, scurrying away from harm. When these are the essence of my hours, my work is denied. But the deliberate devotion of Jesus is the continual creation of a sacred space, a holy awareness, a humbling of my will. When I enter that bower, that hushing arbor of fertile ground, my spirit is moved and lead not by environment, but magnificence. 

I get some satisfaction from those merely active days when things and experiences whiz by my eyes and pass through my hands with a lively pace but if there is no passion for God in it, the work eventually flattens into drill. God can work in all things, in shallows and depths, calm waters and rough, but my swimmy spirit demands intention. I need to create a space for Him in my moments to focus on His great work.

The king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength.  Psalm 33:6