Go


Life around home / Monday, April 11th, 2016

“Your audience awaits,” he said. “Go.”

I am a good wife and always do just what he says, and so—

Five weeks later, he showed up on my Why I Blog page and said, “If you let this go much longer, you’ll have to change the title to Why I Don’t Blog. I’m waiting…”

The sky is blue in Meadville, PA and the tulips, the long-suffering often-frozen thoroughly-confused tulips, are thinking of blooming. Perennial herbs are raising their curly heads from the beds into which I tucked them, and blinking off the sleep and the darkness.

We made it.

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My path to holiness took me through a place where the silence was so intense I could hear it dripping, dripping, into the dark. I felt the water rising and could not remember how to swim. But every time the dusky eyes of the smallest looked into mine, joy caught hold and spun me, buoyant and dizzy. (I have never known a child of more joy.) The path rose up and the waters fell and I laughed, but in the night I could feel the darkness breathing behind me, almost upon me, nipping, breathing, and I cried against his shoulder help me, help me.

Some drownings are necessary to endure, like baptism
And wild things breathing hate the light
And all nights have a morning.

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That is why he said Go, because the words can kindle joy and hold the dark at bay. So can greening herbs and baby eyes and sapphire skies and (surprisingly) the starry streaks of tears.

I am still a mother of six, and a broken child of God, and a woman learning to live. I am still on the path. Going.

15 Replies to “Go”

  1. So glad to have you back.

    And still hoping to find time to put to practice your inspiration from WAC. I left your workshop more so ready to go home and write – but since then – life has happened…
    Gina

    1. You and me both. 🙁 At least we had that sweet half hour of chat, which was inspirational without obligating us to go home and do anything about it. Except I still need to send you the pictures I took… Oops.

  2. Welcome back, Shari. I’ve missed your blog. You have a darling little daughter! I’m sorry about the darkness. So glad spring is here!

  3. The darkness is familar. Like a comfy old coat. It would be so easy to stay. Love the word “Go”. I needed that.
    Welcome back. I missed you.

  4. Oh the darkness! How I wish I knew nothing about it, but alas it’s all too familiar! There’s a new life coming to us in August and I’m scared. Scared of that horrible darkness and the desperate fight to swim when it looks easier to drown. I don’t want to expect to “drown” but I’ve been through it multiple times before and there comes a time when you have to be realistic with yourself. So thankful for a strong companion who tells me to “go” even when I think he’s being cruel. The light always comes eventually. I’m so glad you’re back, I’ve missed your fresh inspirations over the winter.

  5. Since you told me you were about to begin blogging again, I’ve been like Toad sitting on the front porch for days just waiting. 🙂 Here’s a cyber hug since we rarely see each other these days.

  6. I have been wondering how you’ve been doing, since I’ve checked periodically to see if you had time to write and nothing was popping up.

    Often this winter I repeated your words from another post to myself, “Just show up.” They helped me weather the deep darkness. And praise God for spring!

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