You suffer and I read quotes from Dante's Inferno...

Are we like-minded or what? The book reminds that in this classic, "the writer is taking a walk and suddenly finds himself disoriented, and so begins his journey into the various levels of hell. He says, 'In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself in a dark wood.' " So reflects Ken Gire, in my reading material for today, but it looks like you should be the one reading this instead of me, as this strikes me as being the complexion of your pain when it is inspected under the surface, no? You're afraid we may wander aimlessly into hell if we're not hearing the voice we think we're hearing.

I know this crucible you're experiencing. I went through it last fall, before I even told you that I felt God leading me toward strange things, too. I went through it when I read the story of Mary breaking the flask of perfume, a year's wages gone, her fortune...she poured it out on Christ. I felt I was supposed to make a similar offering in the arena of my will. I visualized myself pouring out everything that mattered on the outside of me: you, the kids, the job, my health...accepting that He was capable of choosing well what would stay with me and what would leave, what I needed to accomplish His purposes and what I didn't.
(...Funny, I laid most everything there I could think of except the thing that now may be required of me. It was the part of me I shoved back into that dead zone, a thing I had still not yet learned to value enough to consider it potential for sacrifice. So I swirled that in the perfume, too. Only that was recent. You just watched me do it. It only made your dread of following God's call at the cost of hurting me all the worse. I'm sorry you had to go through that. )

Today, as I read, I happened to hit this chapter on pain and depression. Ironically, I sat reading it while I am watching the children laugh and squeal on the water slide at the pool. As for my me, yesterday's pain of the heart flees quickly today as my gratitude resurfaces. The pain of the flesh that was raking the strength right out of me has stopped screaming now that I'm getting more rest, and that makes a big difference for me.

But I see you hurting and I say a prayer for you. You are alone again. A week at home was not enough, and next week...although we'll be together at the beach and that will be better...nevertheless, that is next week. And whenever I feel like you sound now, the "today" you're in feels neverending. And then there's the pain in your foot and ankle. I've watched you over the years. You are so tolerant of physical pain, as if it were an annoying neighbor that you graciously tolerate because moving's not an option. Then there were the movies, show after show where the wife dies, leaving an anguished husband with his wits and faith shattered...until you rolled over in bed and said into your pillow, "No more movies where the wife dies."

In fact, that's not so far from the truth. Another quote from my book says this about pain, that it is "...a burying of the soul in the ground, where it waits in the cold lonely darkness, silent, solitary, waiting for the coming of spring, the warmth of the sun, and the companionship of all living things. 'Except a grain of wheat fall to the ground and die, it cannot bear fruit.' Depression (pain) is not only the dark soil into which the grain falls, but also the soil out of which grows the fruit...But what fruit had grown out of that soil?" This is what you're wondering when you consider whether your pain might be acute or chronic. I understood you perfectly, my love. I know I represent the apex of relinquishing for you, and it makes me quietly awestruck to see you bury me like this verse says, and in doing it, you wonder if you bury yourself as well.

Roland (my Aussie prophet buddy) sent me that verse about the falling grain as being somehow pertinent to me. He sent it some 6 months ago. Now here we are. It is spring. The planting season, but we're only at the stage of burying the seed. It is the stage when faith is most needed...to put the seed in the ground. It is the thought of my pearl poem. It is the theme of my Sarah poem. The good news is that I think we will be through this crucible soon, and we'll stop sounding so pathetic. It's just not our style. Like you said, you remember being young and strong. So do I. Soon we'll be old and strong, too. Remember all moods are mortal. (smile)

Here are some of the things that struck me to share with you from my reading today. Some are related and some are just lovely, and I wanted to share them with you.

The Bible was written in tears, and to tears it yields its best treasures. A.W. Tozer

Preach the Gospel, and when necessary use words. St Francis

The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. van Gogh

And for us as we approach our mission, words by Rilke: "If we arrange our lives according to that principle which counsels us that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now still seems to us the most alien will become that we most trust and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us."

Then there is this prayer by Gire, about coming into the dawn out of the dark woods of Dante's Inferno...

Dear God,
Someone once said:
'Learning to weep, learning to keep vigil, learning to wait for the dawn.
Perhaps this is what it means to be human.'
Thank You for whoever said it,
and teach me, I pray, how to live it.
Teach me how to weep
without drowning in self-pity.
Teach me how to keep vigil
even when I'm shivering in the dark.
And teach me how to wait for the dawn
without the belting optimism of someone
who hasn't been through the night...