When J first left, about eighteen months ago my sister told me to pray for Clarity and Guidance. I'm not a real church-y type, and what I do is more meditation than prayer, but I added Grace to the list and wrote it on a heart shaped post it note. It kept falling off my computer monitor where I stuck it, and now it floats to the top of the mess on my desk periodically. Here it is now: Clarity, Guidance, Grace. And I think about those three gifts.
Clarity--I think in order to understand how I arrived here, I need to let the chaos of feelings settle. That takes time. I think of a muddy pool that's been stirred up by a storm. Only with stillness will the particles settle to the bottom and the water clarify. In some ways eighteen months seems like such a long time, but only recently have I begun to feel like I'm going to someday understand.
Guidance--I am just now learning where to look for guidance. I've come to ignore much well-meaning, but sometimes painful advice. I've found a few trusted sources, and stick with them for support, keeping most things to myself. Mostly I'm learning to trust my own instinct about what's helpful and healing.
Grace--the slipperiest one of all. Once in awhile I think I see it out of the corner of my eye. It is what comes to me when I'm running and first so wrapped up in my troubles that I forget to pay attention to my breathing. Only later I realized that the strict rhythm I have always tried to force myself to achieve--four paces breathing in, four paces breathing out--is exactly what causes the stitch in my side and the ragged pain in my chest. Only when I forget about the breathing because I'm attending to my troubles, do I run like I'm in a dream. Only when I suddenly realize I've gone twice as far as I meant to and still nothing hurts do I forget to attend to my troubles. It's circular, and now it's just slipped away from me again. Can anyone tell me what Grace means?
