by Julie Webb Kelley
(Click here if you missed Part 1.)
“I don’t know.” I mumble, wishing she’d let go of me.
“Sure you do. You can’t find the place of real love either can you? As big and vast as it’s supposed to be, this mighty love of God that sent Jesus and raised Him from the dead . . . you haven’t really experienced it either. We’ve both lived a lifetime and missed it. Admit it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then tell me something about it I don’t know.” The challenge sounds like a threat; I can feel my heart prickle with Goosebumps.
The parcels jumble around in my arm ready to topple, my feet are still struggling to find balance, and her clamping fingers are cutting my skin. The darkness is suddenly thicker, the dampness below closer. I try to explain, “I know it’s not . . . God’s love, I mean, it’s more than what you said. More than quantity and quality. I’m not exactly sure, but it’s more than might and power filled with positive character traits.”
Her hand twists in mine, suddenly releasing me, leaving me swaying and unsure.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She spits the question onto the ledge. I will it toward myself, coddling it for courage.
“God’s love is not just some massive depth of emotion, it’s more like the most absolute element of any proportion and . . . it’s something that is impossible for Him to withhold from us. He is love, so He can never set it aside in His dealings with mankind. He can never consider us in any other manner than through the veil of His love.” A ripple of thunder ruptures nearby, startling my thoughts. I can feel rain stepping in between us.
She looks at me, her gaze fraying my words. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. He maintains His love . . . He is persistent in advancing it toward us, compassionate about asserting it in our direction and diligent about converging it on us like . . . like an amiable thrust or a gentle bulldozer leaving us comfortably crushed. I know, because . . .”
“I wish I could believe you.” She is still . . . staring at me, just the wind blowing brand new baby rain drops onto her face.
She takes in a long breath, lifts her head to the dark and closes her eyes to the moon. I watch her spread her arms and surrender to the gloom below her.
“NO!” I shout too late, reach too late, recover my balance too late . . . the gifts flop around as my own arms fly open and my body stretches into a free fall. In a moment I choose to believe in the love of God. Succumbing to a love that cannot help but hold me, I allow the falling, the folding of myself, the quitting of all things carnal. I welcome the ultimate act of self-death entrusting my destination to His desire.
As the moist, ebony air rushes past me, I hear chains breaking; I tumble through the shattering and the shock, feeling the full weight of my lack. Yet, in the mist of this dreadful descent I feel the thick robe of fear sliding off my mind, the heavy cloak of fright slipping from my heart. The strange taste of freedom fills my mouth; the smell of joy engulfs my senses.
With a jolt I land onto the heap of God’s love. Still at last, I open my eyes. I see my gifts within arm’s reach and I marvel at their resilience. Then I see her . . . just beyond the heap, her frame face-up in the water, every part of her that couldn’t believe now floating and hollow. My mind blurs as tears choke my throat. At first I think it’s sadness overtaking me but then realize it cuts deeper, more like the final embrace of a friend.
The moon crawls from behind a thunder cloud spotlighting a distant portrait of my life. I see in the picture myself and my gifts caught in the intimate act of living and dying. A desperate wooziness bends my insides as I study myself on the canvas . . . the presence of life moving, the ghost of death hovering, the glory of God lifting and rising through both. The portrayal reaches out pure and transparent, causing my soul to wilt, my spirit to soar, and my heart to bow.
It compels me to commit one final act of abandon. But as I lean toward submission, I realize that I am coupled to this marvelous heap, wrapped in a reality of attachment that I had never considered before. I look down and notice two things of a completely different nature permanently joined . . . my entire being adhered to God’s love. As I turn it sticks to me. As I rise it lifts with me. As I move it covers me. I can never be separated from it. I realize I am in the perfect place to stop protesting, to give up my life, to relinquish my death. It seems right to release my final breath here, on this heap, secure in God’s love. As I lower myself back onto the heap, settling in to the warmth of it, retreating, accepting the cessation of life and allowing the inevitability of death . . . the heap shifts and, in my relentless surrender, peace displaces the final fragments of terror and I am lost in love, sweetly shattered . . . and for the first time ever I am fully alive.
The Beginning
Hey Susan,
You are such a faithful reader and I love that you let me know how my writing affects you. Thank you for the kudos (imagine me bowing now!) and thanks for being a great friend (imagine my arms hugging you now!)
Posted by: julie | August 26, 2011 at 05:23 PM
Oh my! Seems as if I HAVE never really heard it described nor have I really experienced it this deeply. Kudos to you Julie!
Posted by: Susan | August 26, 2011 at 04:55 PM