Un-Curling

 Eyes awaken in late morning dawn, and my devotional takes me into the wild, thoughts suddenly landing on a figure of nature not often noticed. It's that way with things of beauty and meaning: it's easy to gloss over them and ignore them and forget them or dismiss them as being too insignificant. Yet, it's these very gifts, however small, that usually matter most in the Kingdom-life. 

Fiddlehead ferns, so called for their obvious mimicking of a fiddle's head. These small, green plants are nature's present as they are both nutritious for eating and good for the ecosystem. They often coat the woods like a carpet, blanketing them in green curls of beauty and usefulness. In the woods outside my house, I've seen them often over the years and been fascinated by their presence. 

But today, God is driving something home with this image that's a little different, and I'm listening, as did the prophet Samuel of old... telling God that my heart and mind are open, ready to receive. It's a simple lesson but one that's been a reoccurring theme in recent months: listen to your body. Get in touch with what the innermost part of you is trying to tell you - about its needs, its hopes, its past. 

I close my eyes... and take a breath. 

I can feel it all over - held-in pain, muscles and tendons coiled tight. I feel this way often - a tough but frank reality for those like me who have trauma lacing their story. To let go of the tension, the anxiety, and give the body, soul, and brain permission to relax is a constant struggle as well as an intentional process and daily choosing. Finding peace and calm doesn't come easy and must be worked at. But it's achievable, and that's why we brave ones keep going. Keep trying. 

As I sense the need, yet again, to release this inner hurt, this stress, this pressure, I understand why that tiny fern was brought to mind: that tightly-wound plant is like me - curled and coiled-round in self-protection and preservation, holding in all the things that make up the journey of me. Keeping all the words, the memories, the experiences inside...even the bad ones I probably should let go of. 

But then I realize something - what opens those ferns and gets them to unravel themselves is... the light. The sun. The penetration of warming rays. It's the incoming light that turns them toward itself and releases their metaphoric song. Music of the creation lifted up to bless its Maker. 

Oh, Son of my soul! How I need Thy light to unravel me!

In the writing of heart-chapters, one can begin to shrivel and coil in - the natural self doing its best to shield its innermost parts from supposed danger or pain and all of us can become like the ferns, winding tighter and tighter and closing further in until we are bent low to the earth and hold in our greatest secrets and hurts. Our bodies not made for such tension, we find the heart races, the blood pressure rises, the back aches, the lungs heave, the brain fogs up, and soon, we are lost in a sea of dark uncertainty and hope starts to fade. 

Fail to release the things that haunt and hurt you most, and you'll fail to open yourself to Love. To Light Himself. 

Fiddlehead ferns. Reminder of the fact that music stems from tightening strings and bending them round... it's always the bending, shaping that forms our most meaningful lines, draws out the song that's resting within us all. 

And so I breathe again. Deep. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Take in grace. 

Release the tight. 

Turn myself toward the Light because that is how this uncurling, uncoiling that happen. How I can begin to let the inner tune come forth that is my unique and special life. How I can welcome all the lovely and warming things that speak of God's care for me and help me mend and grow. 

Daily, I must decide to choose peace and space over tightness and stress. Honestly, I've gotten so used to living with this pain that a part of me probably has forgotten what it's like to live without it... doesn't think it's possible. But, I believe it is. I know it is. Because I know that the way of God is the way of rest - of green pastures and still waters and truths that restore the soul. Of righteous paths and feasts even in the presence of enemies... including yourself. 

To know the anointing oil of God's favor and to feel the soul's cup overflow, you and I both need to tap into the patterns of the Prince of Peace. Him who took His own time to go off quietly and pray. To withdraw from obligation to listen to the heart of His Father. To always turn His face into the Light and let it do its work. 

Feet hit the floor, and I resolve today to do what I can to let the Light in - to welcome its warming rays into the coils of my body and spirit and un-curl myself so there is more space for God to enter in. For grace to make things new. For hope to penetrate. 

Anxiety flees in the presence of Love, and the heart rises from its bending low as parts unfurl in a song of blessing to the One who invades all our empty, hurt places and tells us its okay to let go, to unravel and give it over to Him. Because we weren't meant to carry all this heavy, and our bodies, minds, and souls tell us this regularly... if only we're willing to listen. Willing to pay attention. Willing to trust. Willing to see.