Some nights the soul is quiet. This isn’t a stillness or a contentment but a quiet, a staring off into the distance trying to comprehend that which is most incomprehensible.
Who is to know the heart or the soul? We think we do. We try. Yet, always there are surprises. I think this is the appeal of a very philosophical theology. If a person can systematize God, putting all his being into neat little categories, then there is hope to understand ourselves.
Yet, we are made in the image of God, we are designed to reflect his being in a profound way, and destined to reflect something other than his reality on account of our daily sin. There is hope and light and peace calling always. So hard is it to hear and see, so difficult it is to grasp that at moments a person wants to toss it all away and yet cannot. There is nothing else.
I wonder tonight about my past year. I wonder if I have had my time here and am now getting some kind of pushing out. I wonder because if some call came from anywhere in the world at this instant I would leave. I seem to have hit a patch where my heart retreats, my soul struggles to hold on to the light. My emotional self is strong yet my spiritual self is sliding quickly away, down into the depths, so that I cannot see the heavens anymore.
I am stuck in the mud and the mire, and feel weak to once again emerge. So, my mind looks outward and elsewhere even as I don’t know whether this is acedia or a movement of grace to point me towards a new reality.
So, tonight my soul is quiet, telling me nothing, pointing me nowhere.
There is only to pray for wisdom and direction and light. Despite myself I know God is leading me and desires me to follow. Even with my weakness I know he is running after me so that I might one day be strong.
I write even though I do not have words, and I express this even as I don’t have any concept. And I wait. Sometimes the silence of God is deafening.