I had one of those conversations with my wife yesterday – the kind that seem to bring you back to life. (My wife has that effect on me – she is nothing if not a life-giver.)
One of the things I began to realize over the course of our talk was the way certain perspectives we had about our lives were the black and white kind. The kind where there is one side and another. A cut-and-dry totality. An absolute.
To be sure, black and white is easier. It’s probably even necessary, for a time. It helps get us from point A to point B – from a place of pain and stagnation to a place of healing and forward movement. But the black and white is not where wholeness, where life, where light really lives.
Paradoxically, the light seems to live in the gray.
In the tension.
Where the sides give way to a process of deeper healing, transformation, renewal.
I’m not saying there aren’t things to leave behind, solid truths to stand on, boundaries to guard, and newness to embrace with reckless abandon and commitment.
All I’m saying is that the hard road of complexity strangely soothes the wounded soul. It’s the vulnerable place where the only thing that really matters – connection and communion – can truly happen. Where we can believe that we are worthy of belonging, no matter what we’ve experienced to the contrary. And that’s a risk, to be sure.
But a life of light is always risky.
And worth it.