Time Travel Orientation (Part 2)

I like walks.  Walks to nowhere are nice, but I especially enjoy walks to places.  I might actually like places more than walks.  So many of my walks have successfully carried me away from something to someplace where I could sort through some things.  I particularly like places that allow me to escape from things so I don’t have to worry about the walk back to the things.  When I’m feeling courageous enough, however, I will travel back to the places I used to walk away from in order to invite the possibility of seeing the old place become like new. 

Whenever we’re fortunate enough to find or return to someplace like that, we might be met with the gift of new potential.  We may be faced with possibility for both our perception of the memorable space and perhaps the space itself to be preserved or transformed.

One of my favorite walks was to my old high school football field in Notus, Idaho.  After loosing it in an argument with my parents one night or reaching some stressful point of no return, I would take the half mile trip to wander around the field in the dark and pray.  My routine visits had this way of assuring me I would find some hope in my current or past situation. But truthfully, the majority of my trips to the field weren’t about dealing with life’s problems. Most of the time I would walk or jog the field, getting intimate with all the areas where I would elude the defenders in my next game and make the game winning the touch down.  I visualized the routes I’d run, the catches I’d make and the memorable plays that would go down in school history as the greatest.  If I could rehearse the moves and visualize my success in advance I would be able to handle any challenge ahead.  This place somehow enabled me to look backward and forward.  Yet, I’m pretty sure I just looked like a lunatic out there, sprinting around in the middle of the night, spinning, jumping, winning imaginary games with my invisible teammates.  I’m so embarrassed just thinking about this now!

Though I usually can’t locate it in the moment, I’ve always held a clear expectation that my sight will be the most fulfilling source of refreshment on life’s journey.  “If only I could reach the top and behold the vastness of the summit, look out and see no end to the sea…then I will find order in my chaos; I will finally see my past pain under a new light.  Then, I might be given the same peace that’s been made visible to me.”  I suppose I’ve depended on my sight for so long, I’ve secretly come to consider it my primary way of interpreting the past and leaning into the future.  Yet, it is usually the fog, the necessity of realizing the limits of my senses, that the Spirit uses to speak on my walks.  It’s usually my chosen way of perceiving the world that blurs my vision.  My plan by which I will treat my old wounds ends up being the obstacle. 

I wonder if the greatest limits to our senses were our own expectations? 

What if the assumptions or expectations providing order in our journey are the very things limiting the senses we need in order to make our way through the storms of suffering?  What if it was true: “Faith is being sure about what we’re hoping for, while still being certain that we can’t see it really happening.” 

One of my favorite authors talks about traveling back in time to find healing from past hurts with a familiar experience.  We wake up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water but must walk through the pitch black house first.  Our eyes are open, straining to make out shapes and shades that could indicate we’re heading in the right direction.  Our hands go up and out ahead of us like extensions of our eyes. We know the way because we’ve traveled it before.  Yet, we’re surprised in the worst possible way when we stub our toe on the table we swear someone must have moved into the path on purpose!  Then, just as we reach the end of the black minefield, we bash our funny bone on a corner that appeared out of no where! Even if we get our drink of water, we conclude it was so not worth the pain.

Still, on the walk back or the next time we find ourselves facing the dark in order to get to a future, we can slowly become aware of where some of the painful memories, comments, rejections and reasons for us to quit are located. We will not be able to bear looking at them all at once, nor could we as they aren’t made entirely visible to us.  In fact, rather than wishing or waiting for all the lights to come on or to see anything at all, we must submit to the reality that there are other means of finding our way. 

But, God knows, walking into darkness doesn’t exactly feel like a productive use of time. I mean God knows, even though one can learn from the past and enter it long enough to trust there’s a future beyond it, if he sticks around in the dark for too long it could end badly.  After listening to some friends tell about moments from their week, my heart ached as I was reminded once again we are not always in control of our time traveling. 

At the most random, inappropriate times, Grief can suddenly transport us back into the hell or bliss of a particular memory.  Something relatively mundane or meaningless somehow has power to send us back to a place so great or horrible we can barely stand it.  Without notice we can be rushed to a panoramic display of memories and experiences all at once; and we are forced to watch it all go down and feel more than we can handle in a lifetime.  Here, Grief is no friend guiding you gently back and forth in time.  There is no Ghost of Christmas standing nearby as a faint companion, offering answers to our questions.  Rewind, fast forward, slow, pause and play are nothing but cruel jokes.  In this time travel, we feel completely alone.  The only thing we’re oriented to is our own scream: “I want off! Get me off of this thing! I’m gonna loose it—stop it—LET ME OFF!”

It’s difficult to know what to say in response to that type of time travel.  There’s no anecdotal advice or formula to stop or avoid the process.  The serious lack of control over it is real.  I can only confess, while this dizzying travel is part of the process, it has not been permanent for me.  Their relationship is a bit ambiguous, but I think Grief has a friend who was out there spinning in time with me.  I’m not sure how, but today I feel known by Him.  She’s never taken anything away, but sustained me through it all.

In all likelihood we will stub our toes on the same things time and time again.  The pain may be no less intense each time.  If you’re anything like me, there may be nothing causing you to stumble and you’ll still manage to trip over yourself.  But, whenever the other’s trespass comes to mind, whenever the pain or numbness sets in at the thought of what’s gone, we are faced with an opportunity.  No one or thing can take it away from us as it presents itself in both pain and pleasure, in sorrow and joy.  The opportunity emerges as we allow our other senses to inform us of where the causes of suffering exist.  It’s found not in our efforts to eliminate the cause but in our search for what potential for life the cause secretly carries behind it.  The next time we approach the once delightful or pain-filled reminder, or it surprises us with it’s appearance, it may be no less frightening or dreadful.  However, we can become familiar enough with the space that we can stand to pass old things on our way without stumbling…as much.  Then, with whatever miniscule bit of faith we can claim, as blind and irrational as it is, we can eventually sense the opportunity and the possibility it births. 

My walks have come with unanticipated and unpleasant realizations.  I’ve been surprised as they’ve taken me to more mysterious places than vistas with crystal clear answers.  So, there’s probably no coincidence nearly all my newfound reasons for life and a future have come as I face my limits for what they are.  In ways I least expect it, the Spirit is gracing me enough to reach places where I stop expecting things from life and start accepting new responsibility to it.  Today, my hope is to find others to walk with along the way.