Open Road - a life worth waiting for

 

Open Road - a life worth waiting for

It’s a rainy afternoon in the summer of 1999.  I’m having tea with a good friend and we’re discussing the ups and downs of major life choices.  I recently left teaching and still don’t know what's on the horizon.  What seemed like a great leap of faith a few months ago has turned into a free fall into panic.  It's as if my life is stuck in a nonstop squeaky hamster wheel, going around and around and around with no end in sight.

I tell Olivia, “I really need to do something tangible to help me move past this fear of what’s coming next.  It’s going to kill me if I don’t let it go.”

My friend looks at me and grins.  “I was leaving the house today and three times I had the intuition to go back inside and get something for you.” 

I anxiously wait on pins and needles while she goes to her car to get whatever this “thing” is.  Will it be the golden ticket to calm my fears?  Right now, I’m willing to try anything.

When Olivia returns, she hands me a tiny, white vial saying, “Put that in your purse and take it outside tonight when the moon is full.  Don’t open it until then.”

“What’s it for?” I ask, turning it over in my hand, desperate to have all my questions answered instantly.

“You’ll know when you open it, Katie,” Olivia says. “Trust me.  Don’t think about it too much.”

“What is it?  Something I’m supposed to drink or what?”  

She smiles knowingly.  “I’m not telling you.  You’ll know exactly what to do.  And don’t come back inside until that bottle is empty.”

In the past, I’ve always despised mysteries, but in that moment I start to believe in magic potions…or at least in the potential for one to magically appear in my life. 

I trust Olivia. 

I trust the moment.

 

It rains most of that evening, so the night air is moist and fluid.   As I step outside my back door, a full moon shines over the south side of my garden.  Walking barefoot through the dewy grass, I drag one of the lawn chairs into the middle of the yard so that I can open the vial under the radiant glow.

When I twist off the cap, I realize the bottle is filled with bubbles.  In the lid is a wand to dip into the soapy solution.  I laugh, realizing what my friend had meant for me to do.  I’m supposed to name my fears, one by one, then gently send them away as I blow the bubbles into the humid night air.

I take a deep breath and began. 

"I’m afraid I’ll never find a job," I whisper.  I blow dozens of tiny bubbles into the air.

"I’m afraid of falling in love with someone new because I’ll lose my identity again."  More bubbles fly over my head.  

"I’m afraid of making the wrong choices with my life." 

As I watch the luminescent spheres of light float through the moist nighttime air, I find the courage to name all the fears that come to mind.  The simple ones.  The complex ones.  The ones that have haunted me since childhood.  The ones that have just emerged in that moment.  My heart becomes lighter and lighter as I release them all with childlike abandon.

And then…one more surfaces. 

Tears come to my eyes as I say aloud, “I’m afraid to be happy because then all the bubbles will burst.”

As I blow a multitude of orbs into the air, I close my eyes and allow silent tears to fall down my cheeks.  A moment later I take a deep breath, open my eyes, then look around the yard.  Surrounding me like a carpet of shining crystal balls, all of the bubbles are lovingly cradled in the dewy grass. 

Every one reflects the light of the full moon, whole and unbroken.

I begin to blow more bubbles just for the sheer joy of it.  They float up into the air, descend to the ground, and land on the grass…the chair…my skin.  I realize that my fear of happiness, of change, the fear of bubbles bursting is just an illusion I had created to keep me safe inside myself. 

When the bottle is nearly empty, I dip the wand inside it one last time and wonder, “How much happiness can I hold now?”

                                                                         ***

I used to pray to be broken.  Pray to be shown my shadows so that I might better learn the ways of humility and mercy.

Then life took me to my knees.

Next, I prayed for understanding and wisdom so that I might allow more space for healing.

Again, I was taken to my knees.

Now I no longer pray without first kneeling on the ground. 

And I no longer need to be broken, for my scar tissue is stronger than the original skin it has replaced.  What once had been shattered has now been recreated.  Not as it once was, for there are pieces missing from my life that I can never reclaim...and I have paid a high price for that which remains.

Through it all, I have learned to trust in the mysterious ways of grace.  Like the wind that blows through the leaves, it is unseen in one form, but its movement creates visible transformation.  And yet, the incredible revelation I have embodied is more than mysterious.

It has been miraculous.

When Michelangelo was asked how he created The Pieta, he said, “I saw the angel in the marble and I carved until I set him free."

What a glorious thing to know that God could see an angel within the stone walls I had built to hide my true nature...my authentic spirit.  Then, when I prayed for guidance, lovingly provided me with the tools to set myself free. 

Mary lovingly holds her son, Jesus, in The Pieta.  I, too, have been held by people who love me.  They are instruments of hope, sent by grace, who held me when I was wounded and when I was thriving.  When I was in despair and when I was joyous. 

Who hold me now as I celebrate the open road before me...the beginning of a new life that I trust will be filled with peace and love and joy. 

This is a life worth working for. 

A life worth healing for.

A life worth waiting for.