Between Hell and Well
One week from today, our family will open a new door and cross the threshold into a new chapter of our lives. What awaits us on the other side of that door is unknown.
Without going into too many details, suffice it to say that it is truly a life and death matter. All could be well, or all could be hell. It could be joyful relief, could be destructive trauma. Most likely, if life has taught me anything, it will most certainly be a sometimes-chaotic, wild mix of the two.
But the fact is, we don’t know. Well or hell, we don’t know.
And so, when friends ask me how I’m feeling about this looming wave of change, my answer has been complex, nuanced, and even ambiguous at times.
Just this morning, one of my dear mentors asked me how I was doing, and after some thought, all I could say was, “I really don’t know.” To which he replied, “Well, that must mean ‘good’ then.” [I paused and pondered: “I haven’t thought of it that way before, but isn’t it true that we know it when we are not well?…”]
And then I replied:
“The Truth of the matter is, I cannot see the future.”
Which, of course, is true every week…and day…and breath. But we work really hard to avoid and manage and contain that terrifying reality, don’t we?
I do.
Or I did, before life gave me no other choice but to stare, eye-to-eye, in the face of that terrible Beast. As much as I tried—with every cell and particle of my being—to make it disappear, I could not.
Our finitude is an ever present reality, and I have decided to try (‘try’ being the operative word there) to befriend it. Not because I want to, but because I have reached the end of my list of tricks and tips to try to make the Beast disappear. I surrender. Like Rumi and The Guest House. (If you are unfamiliar, I invite you to pause now and read it here.)
What I have found, is that once you hang around with this Beast long enough, you start to see that it’s not always terribly scary. I mean, sometimes the unknown turns out to be good. As an old friend used to remind me, “the vast majority of things we worry about don’t come to fruition.”
We assume, prepare for, and worry about the worst as armor to try protect our most vulnerable selves.
But all that armor really does is keep us from feeling and moving freely in the present.
What’s more, the Beast—our finitude to see, know, and control the future—can become the greatest Beauty in our lives, once we learn to see its truest, simplest essence. After all, not knowing the future is the gift that makes it possible (possible) for us to be in the present. Which is all there really is.
I’m not afraid of not knowing, I’m afraid of hell.
I don’t yearn for control, I yearn to be well.
Actually, what I really yearn for is the peace to know that I am okay in either place, hell or well…and every place in between.
And, if I’m willing to admit that I can’t manufacture that security myself, it leaves me open enough to be receptive to the Source who can and does provide that Security, moment by moment. …one week, one day, one breath at a time.
Of course, we’d deeply appreciate your prayers. As I’m certain you know too, its not easy living between hell and well; I’m grateful for companions on the journey.