The Space Between

a Holy mending.

The rain that falls
Splashed in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into your room
The space between
Our wicked lies is
The hope to keep us safe from pain

Take my hand
'cause we're walking out of here
Right out of here
LOVE is all we need dear
The space between
What's wrong and right

The Space Between - Dave Matthews

The space between your heart and mind
Is the space we'll fill with time.

---

It all began at a party. The sky was bright blue. Clouds reminisced “Oregon clouds,” grandparents on the beach held up by a curly headed dog against the wind, sand smiting whatever skin was bare. Marshmallows softly falling over the newly married mountain. Children walking through the California beach tunnel, rolling in salt water, thick hair glistening in sunshine. Sun down, scattered towels, toys, books, collected one-day-holidays in buckets of time. Full bellies, lazy drives home, the smell of sea air surrounding little bodies dreaming of one more swim.

Your room full of quiet uninhibited chatter, singing, toy cars in straight lines, lego pieces turning to wonder, kicking balls across fields. The Space Between. 14. Teen. The music. College dorm. Nervous goodbyes. My beautiful firstborn, how I loved you and love you.

You cannot quit me so quickly.

Enter the grown, groaning, grievous space of emptiness, quiet, questions, crying out into the night. Dreams so real they awoke thumping heavy tears of unsafe pain, eyes reddened, sealed in crustiness and hours of unrested rest.

Keep smiling.

And so it goes, that in this truthfully untruthful wicked space, where the world lit on fire, the board laid out neatly, spread across the universe, by dominions. And we, marbled antiquated chess pieces moved around in a circle of madness, their hands shuffling us into reckless rifts.

God of mercy, scoop me up into the clouds of contented evocations. Help me absorb beauty multiplied, correct my ways, neglect the lies, listen to Love. Float me above cruel ocean waves.

Welcome to the party. The clouds no longer adorn each re-entry. I lift my head, follow You in and out of blue, green, golden, orange hued seasons of arched balloons, weather veins pointing to children’s laughter, gifts of life replacing wrapped ribboned offerings, guided by the promise that we are held in the space

between your heart and mind.

The space we'll fill with time

what God only knows

in the Light of

Holy mending.

(l) Holding my firstborn - (r) My firstborn holding his firstborn

At the beginning of my Substack I wrote a raw and honest piece about family estrangement called Does Time Heal All Wounds?

It does.

Maybe not all. Some wounds are guarded and locked away. Scars that rarely need tending to. They sometimes question their healing, yet never their forgiveness.

When I think about it, our country has been estranged for a long time.

We can move forward, and come together.