Once a while we have a chance to live in the air, we’re lifted up and look down with a fresh perspective. You don’t get that kind of view everyday, don’t you?
But the fact is we’re not in the air but on the ground most of our days. It’s less transcendent, and most immanent. It’s no less beautiful, yet we’re closer to realities we have no choice but to confront with.
There will be times where we’re supporting from the side, and we walk along side those whom are going through a dark valley. Once a while, or there will surely be a time where we ourselves will walk in a place where it’s not sunny and bright.
Where is grace in times like this? What does it mean to say “your grace is enough for me in times of weakness”? How does one negotiate the need for some distance to make tough decisions and the draw towards empathetic compassion?
Words fail us. Tears become our language.
Silence is a long lost vocabulary which needs recovery.
Living one day at a time means so much more than just a sentence filler to change the subject.
Priorities sharpen when we go in and out of hospitals. To some it’s inconvenience, a disruption to our normal way of life. And yet, this invasion to our often mindless time tables, poke us to reconsider our ways.
Self-examination is precious but then at times like this you can’t slip into self-paralysis. It’s not about us anymore, it’s about the one who is afraid, unsure, alone, and in need. The questions will need another day to find their answers. Right now, the focus is the one in front of us.
Ewan decided to get off my lap and start his little routine: exploring and discovering. I need to get ready for a day of re-entering what life is on the ground. I pray for a stillness – a kind of “the eye of a storm” stillness – which keeps me and our family centred during this unexpected moment.
Where is grace in times like this? Or maybe make it more explicit – where is God in times like this?
Not in the air, but on the ground. At least that’s the God I trust in.