The truth is, they’re difficult for me just now. A restlessness sets in as I try to stop the train of thought-life that’s all about tasks and goals and what needs to be done next. As I settle in to read or pray or perhaps play guitar or make a piece of art, a feeling of anxiety creeps in, and I start to move and quake like a washing machine, agitator being an appropriate noun. Nothing overly concerning really, but I think we have to pay attention to what’s going on in the quiet, even when its restless and noisy.
This new season of life is on my mind, even when I’m not really thinking about it. Wondering a bit about the future, what it holds for my family, for Anjie and I. I’m preaching, she’s enjoying her job, our kids are out making their way in a very big world. I’m also missing the artistic work, and I find myself pulled toward thoughts of writing and acting and even, after all these years, of directing. I told the church the other day I am a man of moments. I told them that in the context of a pretty wonderful time of worship, a holy-ground kind of moment. To create those moments in the world of art and theatre is such a powerful experience, and one that I know so well. I talk about those moments as moments when the curtain to Heaven parts just a little, and somehow in our spirits we catch a shimmering glance at something that is all possibility and hope and joy.
I suppose that’s what is behind my love and search for beauty. Alejandro Garcia-Rivera talks of this as God calling in moments of such beauty, revealing Himself to a world that is so desperate to find Him. Garcia-Rivera also speaks of these moments as full of ache, because as the same time God reveals His presence, the great chasm between us and Him is also revealed. We ache for the country from which we come.
Next week, next Monday, someone remind me to sit quietly and travel inside toward that God in that country, we remember, and long to live in.