Hello, Everyone,
When I finished my study abroad term in France during college, two of my closest friends and I decided to hike a portion of the Camino de Santiago, a network of pilgrimage trails dating back to the Middle Ages that all end in Santiago, Spain. We chose to follow a route that took us along the coast of Northern Spain, which meant gorgeous views of both the Atlantic Ocean and the verdant green hills through which we travelled.
Near the end of one day, after a particularly steep incline, we paused for a few minutes to look at the landscape. Across the valley, there were a number of other hills further along the trail that were illuminated by the late afternoon light. They were practically glowing. I stood there transfixed, completely in awe of such splendor. To this day, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything else in nature look more beautiful.
And yet, as I stood there, I felt a concurrent, deep longing to be there, on those hills, in that light. In that moment, that was all I wanted in all the world. Nothing else mattered but being exposed to that light. Somehow, I felt, if I could just be there, basking in that golden warmth, everything would be alright.
As I began to imagine what that would be like, though, I remembered from previous experiences that light this intense is blinding; you can see only light surrounding you in all directions. I began to realize that I was actually experiencing two contradictory desires. I wanted to be in the light, but also to observe the light interact with other objects. It was a rather frustrating paradox: seeing the way light lay on the hills made me want to be in it, but being in it would make me want to see its effects. I could not do both simultaneously; it is impossible to see both sides of a coin at the same time.
I was reminded of these ruminations last week at church. Over the past year or so, I have been feeling not only the rewards but also the drawbacks of living a solo life. This in no way dominates my thoughts and it’s not a source of anxiety for me. From what I can tell, this is a perfectly reasonable thing to consider especially given these factors:
- I am about to move by myself to a new community yet again, leaving behind many dear friends.
- I am less than a month away from turning thirty, a milestone which prompts one to consider where she has been and where she would still like to go.
- My first very close friend had a child (my goddaughter!) this year, and I’ve seen firsthand how the deep joy of having a child has impacted her family.
- I am about to leave a job where I get to love and be loved simply and deeply by children all day long.
Being single can be lonely sometimes, especially at church (this is a post—or several posts!—for another time), and it makes sense that I would occasionally look with a degree of longing at the lives of other people I know and consider what it might be like to be there, basking in the light of warm familial relationships.
And yet, when I was preparing to take Communion at church last week, I was given a moment of complete grace. I sat there by myself, an empty chair on either side of me, watching as my brothers and sisters moved up to the front to take the bread and wine. I watched as a couple who I know have been experiencing strain in their marriage nevertheless went up together, the husband touching his wife’s shoulder lightly as they broke the bread. I watched as a child whispered something in his mother’s ear and she smiled back at him. I watched as a family who have struggled with discipline issues with one of their children all went up, together.
And a crazy thing began to occur. As I looked at these people, I gradually realized they were glowing, just like those hills in Spain. Sarah Jackson, you may be saying, you need more sleep. You are right, of course, but that’s not what was going on. I think I was getting a reminder of the other side of the coin. I don’t just like to be in the light, I like to see it. And for those few suspended moments, I didn’t want any of it for myself. I didn’t want to be with anyone. I didn’t want to be experiencing those things firsthand. I just wanted to sit there and watch as life happened poignantly around me.
These were tiny moments, unnoticeable, really, if you were in the middle of them. No relationship issues were solved. No life-changing words were spoken. I’m sure none of the people involved even had the first clue that they were participating in actions I found so beautiful. I certainly know there are many times when the small acts of love people give to me go unnoticed in the moment. As a lifelong observer, I’ve learned that really seeing things takes time, effort, and a bit of distance. It dawned on me last Sunday that my position right now—namely being single and without children—often provides me with that bit of distance, with those opportunities to observe and delight in moments that I would otherwise overlook because of general relational busyness.
The grass is always greener, it is said, and at times that may be true. But every so often, we are given the chance to peek over the fence and simply enjoy the sight of a lovely yard without the distractions of having to plant or water or mow. Every so often, we can catch a glimpse of the bigger picture precisely because we’re several paces back from it.
Have a great week,
Sarah/Mouse
