It’s angry and red and horrible. Painful to look at.
But look at it I must, as she toddles around with her little bum bare, willing air and time to do their healing magic. No more of the “remove diaper, clean area, rediaper, repeat” cycle… her sweet tush must lie fallow if it is to be remedied.
So too this space. It flourished, went slowly stagnant, died. And though I wanted to write, wanted to make the page flow with life again, it couldn’t, I couldn’t. I wanted so very much to submit something for Listen to Your Mother but it simply didn’t feel right. There were no words. My blog, my tongue, my typing fingers, weren’t ready. It had to lie fallow.
We had been friends a very long time, and suddenly there was strain and awkwardness. I wanted to reach out but there was some barrier, some invisible weight holding me back. And now, a long while later, there is an olive branch. The friendship is beginning anew. It needed some time, some space, some settling of the snow globe we had shook up. It needed a fallow season.
I never realized how much space between was needed – how often the answer is simply to wait and let things fall into place, to let time and the universe and the fates and God work things out as they’re meant to. Things are not always instantly fixable, and healing – whether physically, mentally, relationally, emotionally – takes time. Its like that boiling pot you never could get to boil while watching – the magic is going on beneath the surface, out of our sight. The burner is heating, the molecules are speeding up and the warmth is spreading. The field is resting, the worms are aerating the soil. And when all this behind-the-scenes is played out, then the visible action can begin. Then things can become productive and healthy and glittery again. And then… then… it is all worth it.
The greatest gift is happening while all is quiet, while things are lying fallow.