It was 2007 when I awoke to a voice, “This time next year, you will not be here.” I was barely awake, but awake enough to know that I had heard words that would not let me go.
In a matter of a few seconds, a flurry of thoughts and questions were foremost in my mind. Does one year literally mean one year? Are we moving? Is it time to pass into the realm of those with whom, presently, I have only a mystical union?
I needed to make sense of the words that I had heard, so I rolled over and reached for my morning reading materials. I opened to the page for that particular day to, seemingly, find the answer to my first question, words that God spoke to Abraham long ago, “This time next year…”
I had been on an Abrahamic journey before, so I took a deep breath and began to saddle up everything known, for I knew that the words from God to Abraham were more about a journey than the actual endpoint. I packed far too much, for in hindsight, this passage through, was more about unlearning.
In reference to moving, my second question, the words didn’t make sense at all. My husband and I were only three plus years into ministry at our church and his position was one best served by tenure. So, question number three: Would this be my last year on earth? In 2007 I would turn the age that my paternal grandmother was when she died.
As time passed, a variety of encounters strengthened the reality of a move to the desert; however, for a shift this significant, I knew that my husband, too, would have to hear something stronger than a call that the land had whispered, to both of us, for years. I found myself traversing between a given timeline and trusting that in the wait, Spirit had more to do in me.
As months turned into years, holding the time contradiction was only one of many paradoxes splitting me apart. I was trusting in a mystical experience, which is rarely accepted as enough. I needed something concrete. I needed more words, but as I listened for words, fewer and fewer words emerged.
To be continued…
Sacred Ruminations*