There is a part of me that loves the cool dampened early morning in the heart of winter. It’s a silence I can’t get enough of. I think it’s a silence created by the harsh cold darkness that keeps most of the world in their beds at 7am. At least all those that don't have to catch a bus in order to get to their first destination of the day. As I lay in my bed I always dread getting up in the winter. Usually the heater hasn’t kicked in yet so getting up isn’t the most pleasant first experience of the day…but once I get all bundled up and start my walk (who am I kidding…sprint) to the bus stop a few blocks from my house, I enter the presence of God in a way few others seasons or places do.

In the midst of the dark silence of the morning I can see every glistening snowflake under the street lights guiding me to my bus stop. I can feel the ground giving way under ever stride and I can see every step I have taken to get there. Every time I take in deep breath I can feel it hitting my lungs leaving a lingering burning feeling. Once my full sprint comes to a stop and I am left standing there waiting for my bus the world seems to pause in absolute silence. It is then I am left to wait. Wait for the bus I know inevitably will becoming around the corner breaking what is likely to be the only complete silence of my day in the process.

In moments of waiting like this the silence is almost deafening. I think it has to do with the realization that even in the solitary moment of that morning God’s presence envelopes every breath I take in and every thought I have. It’s the deep connectedness in knowing a presence outside yourself so immense that you are left with a great feeling of unease. Unease at what that presence might do or not do in that very moment. Spiritually I see the seasons in my life in a similar way. When the presence of God is close at hand and speaking into my life I long for the times when He was silent. When God chooses to be silent I miss the great feeling of being fully and completely known in that instant.

Usually I do not stopped to ponder the spiritual seasons of my life…but last spring I could not help but feel, for the first time in a long time, that I was finally entering a good and fruitful season. Part of it was the switching of my major, part of it was finally feeling a deep seeded grounding in my call, and part of it was feeling at peace with my place within my relationships with others. In fact, I remember telling a friend that I felt like I had just come out of a season where I was spiritually in the desert and now was finally in the Promised Land. With that thought solidified within my mind I thought I had reached a place of spiritual “maturity”. A place where God would keep leading me towards better relationships with others, a better understanding of the world around me, and of my role within it. A part me also started to feel the vulnerability of life slipping way. Because for some reason at that time God being with me and for me meant that nothing could touch me. A though I comfortably rested in until I found it to be disastrously untrue.

I don't know what it is…perhaps it’s my “Jonah” or “Martha” nature…whatever it is I have found that God seems to create the greatest change in my life when I “feel” I have the greatest control. For me control is a central theme in life…and God often acts to remind me of my inability to control my life and its path to the degree I would like. I think a big part of it for me is vulnerability.

The word vulnerable comes from the Latin word for "wound"...meaning literally, woundable. Being vulnerable is not something I like be. I can give others a taste of vulnerability but being totally and utterly vulnerable is something that scares me a lot. It’s something that I am learning to live with and live in. Embracing the vulnerability of life and faith that walking with God brings. A vulnerability that can cause personal pain and strife…but none the less a vulnerability that can bring the very presence of God into the wounded lives of others and in doing so, also bringing peace for yourself. I am starting to see that vulnerability does not rest on my ability to be honest with others but to be true to the person I was created. A person with all the gifts and blessings, fears and trappings, experiences and inexperience’s God has created me with. Because to act in any other way would defy and negate what God had created and loved from before my birth. Choosing vulnerability is choosing to walk humbly with God relying in His ultimate grace and mercy. Trusting that in that venerability God will find and embrace me, claim and up hold me, until the day I see him face to face.

Skakes