Good morning…
I was woken by an weird image. Just like I did, you will probably crinkle up your nose and ask “What does this mean, God?” The image was fleeting. The image was anxiety provoking. The image was of a portable stadium seat (the padded kind used at sporting events) folded into pieces, disassembled, being held in a set of arms.
As I un-crinkle my nose, I know what this image is about. I am required to turn in my first 8-page, graduate school paper for my Spiritual Direction training program by Friday at 5:00 pm. As instructed, I have been reading and organizing notes into an outline. I have been prayerfully pondering a huge pile of wise words gathered at our intensive weekend ten days ago. I am diligently trying to discern the material’s main points, but thoughts are disjointed, disconnected, disassembled in my mind. Right now, my paper is in desperate need of three things: time, assembly instructions, and some connective screws!
I can not turn into my professors a random pile of thoughts. By 5:00 pm on Friday, the portable stadium seat of my insightful observations must be sturdy, cohesive, unified. How in the heck is this going to happen when so much of my time is already spoken for by family, by my teaching schedule, by my work at the church? Ironically, I, a daily writer, am stuck facing a “writer’s block” at a crucial time. My concrete, comprehensive knowing sits disassembled in a pitiful pile, held in a set of arms.
I write that phrase again, “…held in a set of arms.” I can not figure out if this pile of pieces is being held in my own arms or in the arms of God Almighty. Does the responsibility of lifting this “writer’s block,” writing this paper, lie with me, with God, with both of us? There is only one set of arms in this image, so the answer can not physically be both. I somehow sense the set I see are God’s strong arms, carefully cradling all of the separate pieces. Does the LORD understand? This paper must be compiled, well written, due by 5:00 pm on Friday, 60 hours from now.
My awareness shifts to see my self in this image as the pile of disjointed, disconnected pieces. Only God knows the assembly instructions for my daily life and my paper. Only God owns the connective screws required to piece me and my paper together in working order. Today, I hand God my time as I head to Ignatius House Retreat Center for the Ash Wednesday Day of Reflection. From 9:00 am to 3:00 pm, I will silently rest in my Father’s arms, trusting Him with my process of assembly. I pray that by the end of the day, I will be unblocked, connected, feeling put together whole. As I begin this season of Lent, I envision God taking my pile of disjointed pieces and fitting me together whole, breathing Breath into my being and empowering me to hand in an 8-page paper reflecting my new learning curve before Friday’s clock strikes 5:00.
The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” I said, “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord,’”
Ezekiel 37:1-6 (NIV),
Sue
