I went hiking today. It was hot. way freaking hot. But it felt kind of good to be out in nature all by myself, which was surprising. Especially since there was a part of me that was a bit concerned about being kidnapped by a serial killer. But once I settled in to the hike my mind relaxed and felt the freedom to wander from thought to thought. And suddenly I felt like the hike was pretty metaphoric for this particular season of my life. It feels like I have been in the wilderness. And I have felt very much alone in the midst of it. And I have felt afraid of what will happen to me, which is a new thing. And I hate it. I hate feeling afraid.
C.S. Lewis opens A Grief Observed with a confession: "No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness." I find his words incredibly comforting and I find them to be true. Perhaps this is why I feel afraid for the first time in my life; I am feeling grief at depths I could have never imagined. Divorce feels like a death--the death of a relationship, of a shared life, of a future, of a hope, of much more than I have language for right now.
I wish grief was just a feeling. For then I could count on the assurance that feelings pass, they move from one to the next. But I am finding grief to be a process. So even when my feelings change from sadness to anger to happiness, even, I find the presence of grief remains. And this is a royal pain in the ass. Because I am tired of grieving. I want to be done with it.
But, for whatever reason, this season of grief continues. And so I will continue to walk in it. And be present. And wrestle with my creator, who could make it all go away in a second. But God doesn't. And it pisses me off. And I told God that on my hike today. I told him that it feels like he has lured me into the wilderness and left me there alone. I can no longer hear his voice and I am not sure if that is because I am not listening or I do not recognize his voice anymore or if he is being silent. Whatever the reason, I miss it. And the wilderness would feel a lot less horrid if I could just hear his voice again.
And then a strange thing happened. I heard a noise to my left and as I turned I saw a rock, in the shape of a heart, sitting in a dead tree. And I began to cry. God drives me crazy! I could let my rational brain tell me all of the scenarios that could have taken place in order for this particular heart-shaped rock to be out of its place and in the branches of a tree. But I chose to let myself believe that God hears me. Even in the wilderness. And today, in that moment, I heard him too.
