In the midst of struggle, I often turn to books. Talking to friends and family can be somewhat helpful but sometimes I need to enter into the life of another as page after page allows me to tag along for the journey. I like to read the unvarnished truth--the words the author may or may not say out loud to his own friends and family. I am forever in search of truth.
If you have read the blog post previous to this one about my health issues, my need for answers predominates the discussion. What lurks between the lines is my need for someone to walk with me through the valley of the shadow of death, and I was fortunate to find Christian Wiman, author of My Bright Abyss. Wiman has no idea of my existence and we are not friends in any sense of the word. But he has been with me as of late, encouraging me with the starkness of views about his life with cancer, his impending death, and how the Creator of the Universe figures into the equation. As I was hanging onto his every word, feeling inspired, crying along with his revelations of truth, my attention is now shifting away from the contemplation of death--as my death sentence was premature--and I am feeling pangs of guilt, leaving him behind.
It seems odd to me how I can arrange my thought processes to reflect whatever truth I choose to believe. And then, whether conscious of this or not, I go about finding others who are willing to agree with me. It validates me to come across sentences like, "Faith steals upon you like dew: some days you wake and it is there. And like dew, it gets burned off in the rising sun of anxieties, ambition, distractions," written by Wiman, and say to myself--yes, it is ok for faith to waiver like mine just has. It is not my faith in God that has come into question, however, but my faith in thinking I know what God is up to. To me it is not the same. God's existence is absolute and his love for me eternal. That does not mean he is going to grant me my wishes, answer my prayers the way in which I have carefully laid them before him with that intention in mind, or even that good things will happen--what I may consider good anyway. God is God. He can do or not do whatever it is an Almighty being would choose to do. How I deal with it is up to me.
So when Wiman suggests that faith gets "burned off in the rising sun" of whatever life throws in my direction, I know what he is talking about. Faith is not needed when the check is ready to clear the bank. Faith is needed when the check is not forthcoming and the calls from the collection agencies start to show up on the answering machine. Faith is not that all is well. Faith is having a sneaking suspicion that all is definitely not well but in time it will be. The big question is when. Does the bottom have to fall out of everything first? Answer: maybe. Will it mean that God does not care? Answer: no. Does God caring have anything to do with the prayers that need to be answered this week? Sort of. He cares. He provides. He will listen to anything I have to say. But like a small child forming her chubby little hand into a fist to say, "No! I won't!" to a parent who has insight into life the toddler lacks, so goes my relationship with God. It is not for me to know but to trust. It is not easy.
When I thought my own demise was near, I started to take on a different point of view. The future looks different when there may not be one. Each day takes on greater significance. A bite of food is savored when the thought of not being able to taste it is introduced. The need to write and use one's gifts move to the forefront as the thought of being silenced once and for all comes into play.
But death will meet us someday. It is part of the script we all live out. Like William Shakespeare said, "All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances . . . ." Of this one thing we can be certain. Knowing how and when is the secret. Someone dying of cancer can pretty well figure it out. And though he can be seen as brave, I have no doubt there are days when Wiman resists that description and is even mocked by it. Could he trade in the bravery and get his life back? he may wonder. What is so great about being brave anyway? And who gets to decide if someone is brave or whether hidden tears and an underlying fear come to define the person when no one is around.
We want people to be our role models and show us how to believe and the appropriate ways to handle various situations. Wiman's dying is palatable through his book. He makes it seem doable. But he also includes in the writing that years have gone by since a paragraph was penned, inviting one into the depth of pain and frustration a writer must feel as he is searching for words to explain his condition while it is deteriorating rapidly. The platitudes fall away, Christian or otherwise. The trite phrases about God, his healing, his mercy, all take on sinister overtones to the person planning his own funeral. Life exists until death takes it. It is not for the one looking in from the outside to even know what it is like and certainly not to make any kind of judgment. It is a solo journey and yet God accompanies the one who can still reach out. But as I discovered in my brief adventure toward this end, it is God who lifts my hand to hold his. I cannot not even do that much myself.
So thank you Christian Wiman. For sharing your heart poetically and honestly in a beautifully written book that has inspired me. For not hiding behind words but allowing them to draw out your truth, as raw and unforgiving as that is. For living out the role you never meant to be cast in. And for the perseverance it has taken to assign words to the unspeakable; a quiet commentary on that which most would rather not consider.
"My God my bright abyss
into which all my longing will not go
once more I come to the edge of all I know
and believing nothing believe in this."
--Christian Wiman, 2013, My Bright Abyss, Meditation of a Modern Believer
If you have read the blog post previous to this one about my health issues, my need for answers predominates the discussion. What lurks between the lines is my need for someone to walk with me through the valley of the shadow of death, and I was fortunate to find Christian Wiman, author of My Bright Abyss. Wiman has no idea of my existence and we are not friends in any sense of the word. But he has been with me as of late, encouraging me with the starkness of views about his life with cancer, his impending death, and how the Creator of the Universe figures into the equation. As I was hanging onto his every word, feeling inspired, crying along with his revelations of truth, my attention is now shifting away from the contemplation of death--as my death sentence was premature--and I am feeling pangs of guilt, leaving him behind.
It seems odd to me how I can arrange my thought processes to reflect whatever truth I choose to believe. And then, whether conscious of this or not, I go about finding others who are willing to agree with me. It validates me to come across sentences like, "Faith steals upon you like dew: some days you wake and it is there. And like dew, it gets burned off in the rising sun of anxieties, ambition, distractions," written by Wiman, and say to myself--yes, it is ok for faith to waiver like mine just has. It is not my faith in God that has come into question, however, but my faith in thinking I know what God is up to. To me it is not the same. God's existence is absolute and his love for me eternal. That does not mean he is going to grant me my wishes, answer my prayers the way in which I have carefully laid them before him with that intention in mind, or even that good things will happen--what I may consider good anyway. God is God. He can do or not do whatever it is an Almighty being would choose to do. How I deal with it is up to me.
So when Wiman suggests that faith gets "burned off in the rising sun" of whatever life throws in my direction, I know what he is talking about. Faith is not needed when the check is ready to clear the bank. Faith is needed when the check is not forthcoming and the calls from the collection agencies start to show up on the answering machine. Faith is not that all is well. Faith is having a sneaking suspicion that all is definitely not well but in time it will be. The big question is when. Does the bottom have to fall out of everything first? Answer: maybe. Will it mean that God does not care? Answer: no. Does God caring have anything to do with the prayers that need to be answered this week? Sort of. He cares. He provides. He will listen to anything I have to say. But like a small child forming her chubby little hand into a fist to say, "No! I won't!" to a parent who has insight into life the toddler lacks, so goes my relationship with God. It is not for me to know but to trust. It is not easy.
When I thought my own demise was near, I started to take on a different point of view. The future looks different when there may not be one. Each day takes on greater significance. A bite of food is savored when the thought of not being able to taste it is introduced. The need to write and use one's gifts move to the forefront as the thought of being silenced once and for all comes into play.
But death will meet us someday. It is part of the script we all live out. Like William Shakespeare said, "All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances . . . ." Of this one thing we can be certain. Knowing how and when is the secret. Someone dying of cancer can pretty well figure it out. And though he can be seen as brave, I have no doubt there are days when Wiman resists that description and is even mocked by it. Could he trade in the bravery and get his life back? he may wonder. What is so great about being brave anyway? And who gets to decide if someone is brave or whether hidden tears and an underlying fear come to define the person when no one is around.
We want people to be our role models and show us how to believe and the appropriate ways to handle various situations. Wiman's dying is palatable through his book. He makes it seem doable. But he also includes in the writing that years have gone by since a paragraph was penned, inviting one into the depth of pain and frustration a writer must feel as he is searching for words to explain his condition while it is deteriorating rapidly. The platitudes fall away, Christian or otherwise. The trite phrases about God, his healing, his mercy, all take on sinister overtones to the person planning his own funeral. Life exists until death takes it. It is not for the one looking in from the outside to even know what it is like and certainly not to make any kind of judgment. It is a solo journey and yet God accompanies the one who can still reach out. But as I discovered in my brief adventure toward this end, it is God who lifts my hand to hold his. I cannot not even do that much myself.
So thank you Christian Wiman. For sharing your heart poetically and honestly in a beautifully written book that has inspired me. For not hiding behind words but allowing them to draw out your truth, as raw and unforgiving as that is. For living out the role you never meant to be cast in. And for the perseverance it has taken to assign words to the unspeakable; a quiet commentary on that which most would rather not consider.
"My God my bright abyss
into which all my longing will not go
once more I come to the edge of all I know
and believing nothing believe in this."
--Christian Wiman, 2013, My Bright Abyss, Meditation of a Modern Believer
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