Musings in liminal spaces
or sitting btn waiting & discerning and discerning & waiting
Advent is the time we prepare for the birth of Christ, or the reconversion of our hearts to receive the Incarnation, the Word made Flesh who dwelt among us and does dwell now in our tabernacles and our hearts. It’s a time of preparation, some inner stillness, lots of buzzing about shopping, and attending precisely 1,405 events for our kids.
But what if it’s sitting in a liminal space? Liminal meaning threshold, sitting meaning we cannot run towards or away from it, and space meaning it’s set apart. Set apart from the bright lights or dark corners. A corridor of waiting all unto itself.
I rather like waiting rooms, if I’m waiting alone, that is. It’s a mini vacation to savor the time to peek into my book or catch up on messages; it’s a time I owe to no one. I cannot be taken anywhere except forward into the appointment and it’s a bit like being asked to do something while driving a car, “So sorry, kids, I’m operating a motorized vehicle so I can’t untie your shoes or pass a water bottle to the third row or read the note from your teacher.” I’m waiting, so I cannot do anything else.
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But what about when we’re discerning? A big questions was posed to me just a few days ago and I’m siting with it. I’m kinda sidling up next to it with a serious side-eye, not confronting it, but testing out how it feels from the profile view. I don’t know what my answer will be. I don’t know what discerning it will even really look like. Lots of wading through feelings and some facts, I imagine. It feels agitated and a bit busy.
But waiting? Waiting is the most passive slide down a waterslide, waiting for that thud & splash at the end. I’m not in charge, nor can I speed it up or slow it down. I’m just the recipient of someone else’s time table, someone else’s clock. And it’s very freeing.
And then there’s this liminal space of Advent. I’m waiting, but I’m also discerning at the same time. So it’s half passive/half active, or maybe more like 70/30 or 30/70 depending on the day. I’m waiting for Jesus’ arrival, an event in space and time that I have no control over. A blessed occurrence that I will note and mark and wave to as it passes us by.
I’m also discerning what He’ll find when he arrives. Will I have fasted for that one friend’s fertility issues like I said I would? Did my morning prayer time get sucked up by the snooze button? Was worrying about my stretch marks something on the to-do or not-to-do list? (Who can keep track as things seem to stretch between both all the time!?) What quick changes can I make to look presentable?
The biggest discernment question is: do I want to be ready in my own personal, quiet, non-sharable way for God’s love to burst into my life anew or not?
I wish I could say the answer is a slam-dunk yes.
What’s taking up all that space in my spiritual garage?
(wow, Nell, we’ve spanned water parks, waiting at the doctor’s office, driving a car, and now a garage—it’s late as I write this, dear reader, sorry.)
Unforgiveness. Poor eating habits. Repetitive complaints. Vexations and re-running scenarios that annoyed me, just really baking it into my hard wiring in case my brain was about to (mercifully) forget. Shopping lists. Sorrow over family living far away. Resentments for old wounds resurfacing.
Sheesh. I need a bigger garage or a ruthless garage sale.
Stop discerning if you want God’s love. Start just waiting for it. I’d like to be in a quiet corridor this Advent, awaiting the Love Who will burst through those doors. I’d like to set aside the fretting and the frittering, embracing my present state, present mess. I’ll happily take what is given, and let the rest go by the wayside.
Love will fill us up to our very brims when there’s room interiorly. So whether I say yes or no to the option laying before me, whether the house is tidy or messy, whether I start working out or no, I am done with discernment that keeps me too busy to wait.
Come, Lord Jesus, come into my heart. It’s just the way you know that it is. Make it Your Own.
Happy Advent friends.
Nell