Beauty in the Gaps

Bird is now a beautiful gap-toothed girl; a wide space forming just below the crinkle in her nose with each rich, broad smile.

Two games birthed from this newfound treasure.

One of getting her to say, "Sister Susie sitting on a thistle" and "Sally sold seashells by the seashore," just to hear the sweet lisp created by absence.

The other, Bird's personal game of discovery, placing her tongue and every other object in the gap to see what might fill the void.

Time and time again this summer, I stare at Bird's beautiful gap, as the eyes of my heart slowly learn more of Magnificence in the gaps.

I have felt the divine push to "love well," to sacrifice more of my ugly self by loving, to serve out of the overwhelming mercy and grace He daily shows me...those who are forgiven much, love much.

As I work to fill in gaps, a questions must be asked, "Do I need their gaps to be filled?"

Am I demanding change by the pride of my own control, bombarding with questions, spelling out truths, and internally screaming with servant actions? or Am I exercising faith in the gaps with a blunt refusal to stop speaking into the divine "silence," as I wait at His feet for His invitation into the gap?

Am I giving time to Time itself to move in His child? or, Am I over-serving that I might see the momentary change I necessitate?

This "need" in me revealing the depths of my own gaps, a search for cooperation when an extension in patience is necessary.

This "need" is more of me, and less of Him...enabling, not empowering.

My enabling seeks cooperation for self, leading to an eventual cycle of fatigue in relationship, yet His empowering bears without "change," anticipating transformation. Enabling is flesh; empowering is Holy influence.

I wrestle in the gaps with those I love most; the controlling arms of fear attempting to strangle faith as I try to bring happiness. Happiness is Holiness, and I have pursued holiness in the gaps so fervently that I have missed Holiness Himself.

I come across this poem,

"The grief you cry out from draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs no one knows the names of.

Give your life to be one of them." the Sufi mystic poet Rumi

Then, the Word draws me to His words, the Syrophoenician Woman's faith...

"But she answered him, 'Yes Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.' And He said to her, 'For this statement you may go your way...

With this Word, I long more deeply than ever to be His love dog that no one knows the name of, a love dog whining to the Master, drawing the union, waiting for the crumb of Life Bread from the Master's hand...

The Master is good, and He rejoices in my lisp limitations as I whine. The whining bringing the game of discovery, for it is at His feet that I discover if it is truly my crumb or another's to carry...

In His grace, may I be a love dog no one knows the name of...

In His mercy, may I go on my way only after I receive His crumb.

His is the true beauty in the gaps.