The Emptiness.

[Preface: There is nothing new under the sun, and this blog entry is certainly no exception to the rule.]

I've been staring at the emptiness all afternoon. It started creeping in a couple of weeks ago. I could see it out of the corner of my vision as I went about my business. I found myself walking faster, barricading myself with work and friends to avoid it getting too near. I did a superb job of it, if I don't say so myself.

Until this afternoon.

This afternoon I came home to my silent house after visiting friends this weekend, and even before I opened the door I knew, I knew I would walk into it if I didn't take quick action to avoid it.

I pondered this for a moment on my doorstep before giving up the chase. You can't run forever, Emily. I walked in, and there it was, as expected. I allowed myself to be engulfed by the questions and the pain... the pain was there just like I had never left it. It feels like a large empty room with no exit, and no direction. An emptiness. And in this emptiness the questions spin and rack my spirit, there is nothing between them and me in the emptiness; no protective layer of preoccupation or busy-ness. Then just as suddenly as the questions started, they came to a halting stop. Does any of it matter, Emily?

I stopped crying and leaned into this question. It expanded in the emptiness. This question which has so many answers; so many solid answers I have experienced and given others... but suddenly it is new, urgent, and unresolved again. Ihave to know.

I've realized the pain isn't the problem, as I thought it would be. I can handle the pain. I've surely given myself much too much credit for being able to handle the pain. And I've been so sure that it matters. Something about sitting in this darkness at times feels keenly purposeful; it seems to change me. But then what do I have to show for the supposed "change." I wonder now, is all just wishful thinking?

So that is my question. Are the questions and pain and fighting through it all... does it matter? Does it make any difference? Will it make any difference? As I recognize the "predestination" philosophy behind these approaches, I shake it off and look squarely at myself: "Emily, are you going to make it purposeful or not?" Then, hot indignation rising within me, I turn back on myself "ME? How can I know? Can I infuse purpose?" Then I stop. I turn to God.

You tell me. I wait.

Please, I need you to tell me again. And I'm still waiting.