It seems that a lot of us spend a lifetime careening out of the last thing and crashing clumsily into the next thing by crudely duct-taping a series of ragged overlaps from one experience to the next. The trouble is, we’re often so hungover from the heartbreak of yesterday and so thirsty for the ecstasy of tomorrow that we are utterly unable to savor the simple sweetness of today.
But right now, no matter how I thrash, beg, cajole, smile demurely or petulantly demand, I just can’t seem to force God’s hand to expedite the liminal space in which I find myself. Not this time.
Richard Rohr describes liminal space in this way “…a unique position where human beings hate to be but where the biblical God is always leading them. It is when you have left the tried and true, but have not yet been able to replace it with anything else. It is when you are finally out of the way. It is when you are between your old comfort zone and any possible new answer. If you are not trained in how to entrust and wait, you will run…anything to flee this terrible cloud of unknowing.”
Whatever, mister enlightened pants.
The dizzying scent of cascading jasmine and wildly winding honeysuckle saturated dusty rays of fading sunlight while gnats defied gravity raving in pools of lingering warmth and birds called the sun to another setting as rich sauces bubbled and wafted from open windows and the carbonated holiness of children’s laughter spilled across lawns riddled with dandelions and clover and before I could stop it, I felt a peace that surpasses understanding beckoning me to step gratefully into the thin place of the liminal space that is my life today.