Jennie & Quandary

Today is my day off and I’ve been spending plenty of time spacing--a quirk of mine which begs to be indulged on lazy afternoons when the mosquitoes are too thick to go out for a walk. It’s simply absorption in a thought to the point of absence. In other words the light’s are on, but I’m out drinking Chai with my BFF two states away.

Sometimes when I space I go into an empty room, a closet or a forest, but often into a memory. It’s different than a flashback because it’s not like I am watching a rerun in my mind. The present me is there --conscious of what is going on, conversing with God about it.

Since I was a little girl I have been able to space out without consciously working at it, and I when I’m alone I mostly like it. I like the lightness I feel when I escape to my own private world. Spacing out in public is troublesome though—and it happens more than I would like. In fact if you’re attentive enough, you’ve probably caught me at. When I am not really here my responses to what happens in the present usually sound strangely fuzzy and mechanical, as if I’m flying on autopilot with one engine out . I hate this side-effect because I know I sound dumb. Fortunately over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at making a quick snap back to the present to laugh at whatever dumb thing I said and hopefully save some face. When all’s said and done I am forced to acknowledge that spacing is my way of processing. I accept it, but wish I had better control over it.

Something happened yesterday that has given my mind plenty of material to ruminate over. So today I’m spacey. I keep thinking about a conversation with my friend Jennie after she caught me spacing out in the way I just described. Her words stuck in my heart and won’t let go of me. The entire conversation keeps replaying in my mind and dangling a new perspective in front of me like a canteen of water in front of a desert nomad. Here’s the jest of what happened:

Jennie and I were talking about some deep stuff when all of the sudden the present world went out of focus, and in my mind I was standing beside God. Then Jennie called me back to the present:

Jennie: What are you thinking? Where are you?

Me: I was thinking of how I used to pray when I was a little girl. God has been so good to me but there were times in the middle of the mess of my childhood when I literally begged God for deliverance. I can see myself nine years old, in limbo trying to care for my mother and little brothers. I was so afraid I cried out for God to rescue us.

Jennie: And it never came?

Me: Maybe it’s been coming.

Jennie: And you’re angry?

Me: It’s just that the deliverance has been so long.

Jennie: And you hurt…

Me: and I just want the hurt in me to stop and I don’t understand why it must keep going … Maybe in the end my taking the long way to deliverance will be the best for everyone.

Jennie: Sarah, what if this process, this long-way, can be the best for everyone here in the middle?

The question “What if this process can be the best for everyone here in the middle?” is nagging me, like a hungry cat. What if my yet-fully-realized deliverance could comfort, could teach, could be a catalyst for hope in my community? What if I could really be okay the way I am?


Initially I found myself inwardly screaming at this dumb-cat’s question:

• I want to be finished.
• I want to be polished.
• I don’t want to face these ugly unprocessed places in me and definitely don’t want to invite others into the middle. No, I’d rather the exodus of my soul to be over before I ever allow people to see it for the mess it was. Thank you very much- dumb cat, but letting people get to know all of me would hinder my ability to show God’s love.

And that was that until later that night I read this passage in Abba’s Child,

If I am not honest with myself, why in the world would I be honest with you? It’s an ugly customer this spiritualizing. It wears a thousand faces, every one of which intends to scare a little child back into hiding.

And I knew at once that was what I was doing. All that hope that I could be okay the way I am--- was a child’s hope--- “I am learning freedom. I am growing. Can I be okay? Can I be loved? Can I do something good?” And I was forcing the child in me to hide once again. I was being pretentious—which I hate because it sends an unspoken vibe to all those around you that who we are as humans should be hidden and controlled. In order to stop the fakeness I needed to listen to the child. So I asked her what she wanted and she told me to invite the cat in. "Just think about it." She asked.

So now I have this the hungry-cat question taking up space in my mind. I am not sure what to do with her, but I am giving this my best shot. I decided to give her a saucer of milk and told her she could stick around awhile. I even named her, “Quandary.” I confided to her my doubt's about her, "I must admit I am still troubled by the long way to deliverance—can this really be for the best right now?" But she doesn't seemed fazed. Instead she has taken up residence on my mental couch.

Thus far Quandary has made a good house guest. She purrs when I pay attention to her, sleeps when I ignore her, and is far more pleasant now that I have let her inside my mind than when I was trying to shut her out.

So I have decided to sit and space awhile--- stroking Quandary and meditating the words of David’s song, “You hear, Oh Lord, the desire of the afflicted; You encourage them, and you listen to their cry, defending the fatherless and the oppressed, in order that man, who is of the earth, may terrify no more (Psalm 10:17+18.)”

“You do Father,” my heart resonates in rhythm then in dissonance, “but how long will we wait?”