It’s been a wilting-on-the-vine sort of hot this week. The daytime usually finds me planted right in the middle of the sweltering so I’m overwhelmingly grateful for the coolness that washes over body and soul when I come in at day’s end. In fact, it would be accurate to say that this hormonal woman LOVES air conditioning.
So it was no small trauma this week when the precious pump that generates deliciously cool air…. frosts it and then puffs it gently into my living spaces….. suffered a violent end. A loud, shrieking death. The friendly whirring that once soothed the summerness from my home was replaced by the whining of little fans complaining that they’re unfairly outmatched. An unhappy, moaning sound pressed down on me while the air grew hot and syrupy, determined that sleep not find us.
During the long sticky night, heat and humidity scrambled my brain and then went to work on my emotions. I slid deeply into debt, borrowing all of the trouble from tomorrow that my overactive imagination could sign for. Miserably, I tossed myself for hours in the angst until thoroughly marinated.
(HOW was I going to be able to be “on” tomorrow? What if I can’t pull it off? What will they think? And my asthma is kicking in big time…I don’t like the breathless version of me. And HOW will we pay for repairs? WHAT if the guy says we need a whole new unit? What if parts have to be ordered and we have to wait? What about the dogs….we can’t stay somewhere else.
What if I can’t take this? What if I fall apart? What if I look as weak as I feel?)
Of course, I tried to talk myself down off of this slippery slope but fatigue stripped away the pretty pretenses until I was left with bare bones honesty. I was honestly afraid. Of not having enough. Of not being enough. Of being vulnerable to the things that can take my breath away.
Of being vulnerable……period.
My head was sore from trying to find PEACE….to figure it all out enough to park my racing mind for the night. I kept circling the runway because I couldn’t accurately see enough pieces of the puzzle to create a picture that would satisfy (even temporarily) my need to know.
I realize how often I settle for peace that COMES from understanding (even if it’s an illusion) rather than opting for the peace that passes it. Trumps it. Overrides it. “Lord, help” I asked.
Help came as the memory of a song(as if whispered but not really) settled over me like a breeze. I’d heard it years ago when Don Potter, the songwriter, sang from his heart and mine melted in response “Show me your face, Lord. Show me your face.” I shared his longing for connection with One who would thoroughly see me back. I had asked….again and again……and my identity began to be shaped at times, not by how I performed, but by what I felt I saw in His eyes.
(Had I completely forgotten or was this just another layer of the onion….a different set of closed doors in my deep places that needed to be swung open to light. No need to know……just show me your face, please, Lord.)
And you know, the AC didn’t pop back on. No bright lights or dramatic displays. Nothing that would be of notice to an onlooker. But I began to see, in the eyes of my imagination, the way a treeline brushes the sky when the wind stirs the leaves. It felt as if love brushed back the damp hair from my sweaty forehead and took my chin in hand, looked at me, and smiled. It was enough. My soul grew quiet and still as my mind pulled again into this simple, life-giving parking space……………show me your face.