feminoggles

There are places held within—remembered spaces in time known to my body, my mind.

I close my eyes and I see a hill. It is the highest point around. The blue sky, electric and vast, reaches far into the horizon on all sides of me. My tears, my prayers, my agony, my words—all part of its history, grown into its side.

We share this history. We met in time, the soil of that hill and its hospitable trees. The earth had given way to my knees as I knelt, pleading to a God I could not find. The weight of my body, the weight of my heartache was folded into its form.

{six years later}

I can see it in my mind, and I remember its care—a simple, unspoken empathy. We groaned for God together.

How it felt sitting on that hill kept returning to my chest—a quiet, deep calling (to a kind of) home. I found it on the map, “Queeny Park”. As I drove up the long driveway, my body quieted and began listening. Listening in the sense that the Eden who visited that hill several years back began to emerge. Her softness, her unabashed desire for God, for connection, for life (in all its forms).

The side of the hill I used to walk up was overgrown, and I could feel sadness well up in me. Grasshoppers were everywhere, jumping and squeaking from my feet as I walked up the hill. At a certain point I couldn’t go any further. Weeds had grown thick and tall as I am through the whole park. The hilltop was inaccessible. My heart sunk. My eyes brimmed with tears.

God, why would you bring me back…to show me this? To see that this land, my land, me…to see the heartache I felt years ago manifested on this land?

So, I walked along the periphery of the hilltop, gazing longingly at the trees I had known, unable to reach them and join them.

I continued walking and came upon a sign staked in the ground. The sign explained that this hilltop had been planted with wildflowers (not weeds) and they had been allowed to grow wild and free.

I started crying. Though it had been several weeks since they had all blossomed, I could see it. The stretch of color. And I was relieved, for we had both found our answers. We had both grown into ourselves over the years. Looking out onto that field, I could see it smiling back at me. We had both struggled and we had both been blessed.

Yes, I see now, that I had hoped to return and be here in this space in my present skin. I wanted to assure the land who offered me sympathy and the God I had loved that I was okay. That I would be okay. I wanted to recognize a long-awaited redemption, of sorts. I wanted to return to the skies that held the echoes of my groans, my skepticism of God’s love, and bore my anguish and resentment. All this, suspended in the skies, in time, waiting for a response, waiting, waiting…

“When that day comes,” says the Lord,
“you will call me ‘my husband’
instead of ‘master.’

O Israel, I will wipe the many names of Baal from your lips,
and you will never mention them again.
On that day I will make a covenant
with all the wild animals and the birds of the sky
and the animals that scurry along the ground
so they will not harm you.
I will remove all weapons of war from the land,
all swords and bows,
so you can live unafraid
in peace and safety.
I will make you my wife forever,
showing you righteousness and justice,
unfailing love and compassion.
I will be faithful to you and make you mind,
and you will finally know as the Lord.

“In that day, I will answer,”
says the Lord.
“I will answer the sky as it pleads for clouds.
And the sky will answer the earth with rain.
Then the earth will answer the thirsty cries
of the grain, the grapevines, and the olive trees.
And they in turn will answer,
‘Jezreel,’—’God plants!’
At that time I will plant a crop of Israelites
and raise them for myself.
I will show love to those I called, ‘Not loved.’
And to those I called ‘Not my people,’
I will say, ‘Now you are my people.’
And they will reply, ‘You are our God!’

—Hosea 2:14–23

Yes, I wanted to kneel on this hill and, at long last, say together, “You are our God, our Husband. And you have answered our cries.”

And so we did.

I sat, at peace and in joy, with this land. When I had to leave, I teared up. I dug my hands into the ground and prayed, “Come with me.”

And what we heard/felt in response was this,

I am with you.
I am Immanuel (God-with-us).
Come with me.”