You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘psychic growth’ tag.
Sleep, one of the symptoms of my terminal illness, is shrink-wrapping my gift of twenty-four-hour living.
Your will, not mine, be done.
For many in the city of St. Louis, Missouri, it will be another Sunday, the last in July, but for a handful of German Saxon Lutherans, grief will supplant their centuries-old vision of the Sacred which they established in 1850; its name, Zion Lutheran Church in North City, is closing.
No longer will it be a dwelling place for God. No longer will congregants flock to Sunday services, attend the elementary school, gather for political discussions, and so much more, it being the hub of German culture.
With the prosperity of the city, all this changed. Decades of blight displaced the residents: Disintegrating hand-made brick homes were eventually torn down, the stripped lots choked with chicory tangles. Factory and ship-spawned soot also contributed to lung diseases and defaced limestone buildings. Survival prompted relocating to cleaner air. Yet, many congregants remained loyal to their church and attended Sunday services at Zion.
Years ago, attendance at their Midnight Mass drew my compassion for this impoverished Gothic church, its sixteen-bells carillon in the spire long silenced. Especially striking were the worn wooden kneelers, evidence of countless worshipers’ faith in God; tinsel-tired Christmas trees leaning against each other; pink walls clashing with the threadbare red carpet, the dank chill that no heating system could allay. Few worshiped with us that night in the candle-lit sanctuary.
Yet, my friend’s centenarian Mother still carries the stories of what happened there. Precious God remembers, too, with Kingdom blessings.
In conversation with the hospice nurse, I heard myself speak the words, Dark Lover, an image of death that emerged from my unconscious, later enlarged within Isaiah’s revelation: I form the light and create the darkness (45:7) Until now, I’d not seen this comparison—both Dark Lover and its counterpart, Lightsome Lover, glimpse the same reality, intimately involved in on-going creation, both its ascendancy and decline.
Like others, I’ve experienced my share of trials that began with a difficult breech birth. Trauma from fractures and food sensitivities that developed into chronic illnesses diminished my participation in life, but in retrospect, I did manage, with Dark Lover’s guidance, though not recognized as such.
His care and protection have seen me through caustic bone pain, the monotony of learning to walk seven times, significant falls, the dullness of exhaustion. Even more has he been present in prayer—teaching me: Your will, not mine, be done.
With this trenchant insight, I’ve a new lens through which to view my present circumstances. Despite the increase of symptoms, I’m prompted to let them go, and to deepen my surrender to Dark Lover’s care flooding my aged body and battered spirit, ever in the process of depth healing.
This is working out, twenty-four hours at a time.
Heart Whisperings 