In a devotional by Henri Nouwen entitled "In Search of Meaning" he writes, "When a child is born, friends get married, a parent dies, people revolt, or a nation starves, it's not enough just to know about these things and to celebrate, grieve, or respond as best we can. We have to keep asking ourselves: 'What does it all mean? What is God trying to tell us? How are we called to live in the midst of all this?' Without such questions our lives become numb and flat. But are there answers? There are, but we will never find them unless we are willing to live the questions first and trust that, as Rilke says, we will, without even noticing it, grow into the answer." I love anything Nouwen writes, but these words were particularly meaningful on the heels of the happenings of the past several weeks. I have celebrated with friends at their weddings (2 more to go this summer!), grieved with those in China and Myanmar over their natural disasters, spent memorable time with new parents and their precious babies, have grieved with my friend whose husband died a year ago fighting for our country, and have witnessed great rebellion and great promise in the teenagers I teach. It's hard to believe all of those experiences have transpired in just a couple of weeks, and I want to be careful that I do not become numb and flat to them, for this is the stuff of life. It is in these experiences that God offers growth through a nearness to Him that comes with searching for His meaning in all of it.
The image that comes to mind is one of me when I was 5 or 6 years old at Ruby Falls. For those who didn't grow up in Chattanooga, Ruby Falls is a man-made cave with a waterfall at the bottom that they cast colored lights on when you get to it (see picture above). If it sounds a bit disappointing, that's because it is. Personal commentary aside, though, when you arrive at the bottom of the cave and are standing at the edge of the falls, they turn all the lights out and it is blacker than any black you've ever experienced. I remember opening my eyes as wide as I possibly could and holding my hand in front of my face and not being able to see anything. It was that black. In my fear and attempt to make sense of what was happening, I clung to the first leg I could find, hoping it was my mom's...and it was. It's that kind of desperate clinging in the midst of uncertainty that I love about the Nouwen quote. It reminds me of one of my favorite hymns:
When darkness veils his lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.
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