O Love
There is a door beneath everything
We’ll walk right by
If we don’t stop to look
With our troubled hearts
And a loving eye.

—David Whyte, “Lough Inagh”

In these early days of a new year, I’ve been learning to discern the love song hidden in silence. Today, as I write, I find myself surrounded by noise at the local coffee shop (there is only one). On most Tuesdays, I bundle up and set out for a coffee shop to write—usually choosing to drive someplace other than here. But today I walked to the one non-chain coffee shop we have in our small town simply because I want to learn to choose my one small life. Their coffee is usually weak, and I always leave smelling like their kitchen. It feels like a liability to be here—vulnerable, somehow. I might risk seeing someone I know; I also risk feeling alone in the place I could be known. In reflecting upon the past year, I have realized how much time I’ve spent living in the future – yearning, dreaming, wishing to be somewhere different as someone different than who I actually am. It is vulnerable, after all, to be seen and known for who we actually are, where we are—especially to see and know ourselves as we actually are and to choose us—here, now—anyways, like God does.  

When we say “yes” to the voice of Love, right where and as we are, we become children of God all over again.

“You are precious to me, beloved” Drew said twice this morning at random times, breaking the silence with which I’ve been trying to carefully swath my life and my mind. Today’s love song has sounded like the voice of my husband, like the thrill of birdsong even in January as I stepped outside to walk to where I am, here and now. It even sounds like the gentle tap of my keys as I type. Without the aid of antidepressants, I’m finding it sometimes hurts to be so present. It feels vulnerable. Yet it is also good to be here, in the land of the living. I don’t know quite how to say what I want to say—only that I want to reach out to where you are and squeeze your hand in solidarity. To tell you that you’re not alone, that God still cares, still loves, still sings over you too. That your one life is good and enough, right where it is. That gold can only be found as we dig to the cavernous depths of ourselves. That such excavation yields a terrible beauty. That the very place where we are marks the X over untold treasure. And in seeking the Kingdom, we never come up empty-handed.

O Love

There is a door beneath everything

We’ll walk right by

If we don’t stop to look

With our troubled hearts

And a loving eye.

16th century Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross describes the Dark Night of the Soul as a spiritual place of unknowing through which we journey in response to the voice of Love, calling out to us from an unknown place. To embark upon this journey is to open the door—leaving the familiar behind—and sojourn towards the Beloved. But we can only ever discern the voice of Love calling within the present reality of our daily lives. It takes practice to attend to the miracle of our days, slowly and with a loving eye.

So maybe it is enough to say: today, you are invited to be where you are. To belong to this present moment, and behold it with tenderness. To listen for the voice of Love calling your name. To meet the Gaze that has been waiting all day for you to look up. To look for the door beneath everything and be willing to open it, especially when we don’t know who or what awaits what on the other side. It could be the one truth which sings at the center of your life. It could be the Christ.

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock.

If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in. . .

With you, I’m asking for the courage to be here now, in the face of so many longings and unknowns.

With you, I’m waiting in silence for Love to sing, looking for the treasure beneath everything, opening the door.

Going deeper:

Read — Drew recently published an article with The Companioning Center about learning to live in the fullness of time. It’s kind, engaging, and practical—just like him.

“The fullness of time…This evocative phrase speaks to something in the heart of God who came to redeem us and also says something about us, who are called beloved children of God. This phrase invites us out of time ruled by transit and transaction and into time marked by redemption and belovedness; out of artificial acceleration and into sacred fullness. . .”

Listen — Listen to “Letter to the Editor” by J Lind. It’s a song about choosing to love our one precious life, despite all not being as we want it to be.

To trade in this half-empty glass
To change the way I see
To give up on the greener grass
That has never changed a thing
Sure, it's not that hard to find a flaw
When the Earth is red in tooth and claw
But I'd like to learn to love it anyway. . .