I am reading a book on Mother Teresa. She is a mysterious woman, not much is known
about her early years. She spent nearly
the first 20 years of her time as a nun working behind closed walls of a school
in India. There is no record of her
venturing out into the slums and working directly with the poor during this time
at the school. One day, she had a vision
to venture out beyond the walls of her comfort zone and live side by side with
the poor. It more time of formalities
and bureaucracy before she was permitted to start her own Order, The Missionaries
of Charity, and move outside the safety of her walls.
I have spent the last few weeks meditating on my own
walls. More specifically, meditating on
the walls of the wolf cave I find myself in (see the last blog for more
details). I have continued to meditate
on “The Lord is My Shepherd” and experienced shifts in my soul. I started with an image of me being alone in
a dark, cold wolf cave. Me, the lost
sheep calling out to a Shepherd that does not seem to hear or notice my absence
from the sheep fold. Me, the sheep
hiding from historical predators. Me, relying on my own strength; my own ability
to save myself. Me, the black sheep claiming
that I stopped hoping for a savior. To
quote Red from Shawshank Redemption, “Hope
is a dangerous thing.”
As I spent time in this cave, I began to see I was not
alone. There was a Shepherd standing at
the entrance asking to come in. I fought
with this invitation. “NO! You are too late. You do not get to come in after I have
already cleaned up the mess and taken care of things.” My gloves were off, and I was ready to
fight. And while I felt this anger, I felt
my deep ambivalence pulling me the opposite direction. I wanted the Shepherd to come in despite my
protests. For while I felt anger and
cheated that I had to save myself, another part of me was still deeply hurting
and terrified. Another part of me did
not want to fight; did not want to push love away. Another part of me really wanted to be
held.
And the Shepherd moved closer inside the cave. My ambivalence grew stronger. “What do you want from me?!?” I saw myself tight-fist holding onto
something for which I had no name. My
thoughts ran fast trying to catch a glimpse as to what exactly I am clutching. Shame?
Yes, but this seems bigger than shame.
Anger? Again, yes, but this feels
like an inadequate response. Pain?
Still not quite it.
The Shepherd moved closer.
This time I felt myself curled close and my head resting on his
lap. I know what it is I am gripping –
my whole life. Surrender my heart, mind,
and strength. Strength – no problem. I love to do things to help others, fix the
broken in the ER, get my hands dirty, and live and work in third world
countries. Mind – again, no problem. I spend great time reading, listening, and seeking
opportunities to learn and feed my soul.
Heart – here is where the rubber meets the road. My heart is still comfortable hiding in the
darkness of these cave walls.
I saw what I am clutching – my heart filled with my
vulnerabilities. Yes, the anger at
having to save myself. Yes, the terror
of facing the wolves. Yes, the pride at
my ability to fight the wolves off and save myself. Yes, the loneliness experienced in the darkness. Yes, the pain from old injuries and the scars
remaining as a constant reminder. Yes,
the hope I secretly carry with me. Yes,
my fear that I will never really know how to love or be loved in return. These deep-felt emotions all reside in my
heart -- my heart that I have guarded so closely. My heart that I warded off from any possibility
of being hurt again. It is my heart and
all these vulnerable emotions that I am being asked to surrender.
I would like to say I have reached the Hallelujah and I have
had some radical breaking point, but this is not the case. My hands are still closed, though the grip is
loosening. In the meantime, I continue
to meditate inside these cave walls and relax in the presence of the Shepherd
sitting with me, the lost sheep. It is peaceful
not fighting (and pushing, screaming, kicking) against love.
