She stands at the screen door, calling -
"Nana. Nana. Nana."
Over and over again, I hear it.
So I lift my voice back to her:
"Lilly, Lilly, Lilly."
And yet again, she cries,
repeating her name for me,
calling out into the deepening dark of evening.
As I walk my evening rounds,
she searches for me.
The layout of this house we've rented
doesn't allow a straight line of vision to the
front drive where I am walking.
But surely, she can hear my voice.
As she calls, I hear the words she cannot yet say:
Is everyone in her world accounted for?
Are all those she is coming to love somewhere
in her line of sight?
Can she sleep tonight, knowing that
all is well and ordered in her world?
Her mother comes close,
whispering that Nana is just outside,
taking her walk,
taking her walk,
see her down there?
All is well, little one. All is well.
I wonder when I hear her - is that what my cries
sound like to the God who draws nigh?
Sometimes I, too, continue to cry out God's name,
wondering if all is well,
if I am safe,
if those I love are safe.
Yahweh. Jesus. Spirit.
Do I think the act of calling causes my Triune God
to pay attention to me?
Am I trapped in the semi-magical thinking of
an eighteen-month-old?
Or am I able to rest,
secure in the knowledge of God's presence,
when I cannot clearly
see any evidence,
even if it is right in front of me?
Ah, yes...but -
Ah, yes...but -
sometimes just calling out a beloved name is comfort.
Sometimes it is enough.
Sometimes it has to be.
Originally posted earlier in the week with Michelle at Graceful, Jen at Finding Heaven with her soli deo gloria sisterhood, but tweaking it a tiny bit and then adding it on Thursday to Bonnie at the Faith Barista and Emily at Canvas Child because it fits somehow, and because I really like this one and I'd like to spread it around a little:
