DOORS AND SEEDS. . .

I am suffering. [To Suffer = to be subjected to, to experience, or to endure pain, distress, and/or loss]  In the past I have attempted to avoid suffering.  What I have learned, however — what I am continuing to learn — is that when suffering knocks on the door of my heart and soul and I say ‘I have no seat for you, so go away’ suffering quietly (and insistently I might add) responds with, ‘No worries, I have brought my own chair.’

These past eighteen months many doors have closed for me and hence my suffering.  These closings — losses if you will — require me to ‘let go of. . .’ and require me to ‘put things to rest.’  What was once available to me is no longer available; way has closed.

There is potential ‘grace’ in this — Jesus says.  He spoke of this grace to his disciples when, in John’s Gospel, Jesus tells his disciples that a grain of wheat has to ‘fall to the ground and die’ if it is going to produce abundant fruit.  If the wheat seed does not die, it will not bring forth new life [John 12:24-26].  For me, I am attempting to hang onto this idea — doors must close before other doors will even become visible, must less open.

In a deep sense, the story of the ‘seed’ encompasses the idea of spiritual transformation.  If I desire spiritual growth, endings/closings and dying/letting go are part of the deal.  I know that a seed remains a seed unless it dies to itself and then there is the opportunity and possibility and potential for new growth to occur.  The question, of course, is: ‘Am I willing to surrender to the process?’  I choose the concept of ‘surrender’ because it is a choice I make — versus the concept of ‘defeat’ which is something that is done to me.

The seed lets go of what it is so that it has an opportunity to ‘become’ its potential.  I grieve the loss of the ways that have closed for me — I have spent energy trying to pry many of them open again.  I continue to face them, to move from one to another and pause in front of each one.  I wait for someone to open a door or I search in my pockets for the ‘key’ to open one or more of them or I knock in hopes that someone on the other side will hear me and open the door and invite me in.  Silence — the doors remain closed.

In facing these closed doors I am not turning to see what other doors are available to me — some of them may be open for all I know and I probably carry a key that will actually open one of them.  Sometimes I can sense my self slowly turning away from the closed doors — or is this turning away an illusion, do I really continue to face the closed doors and ‘hope’?  Thus far I have not discerned a door opening — ‘Do I want to?’ is a question I hold.  Another question I hold: ‘To what extent is my suffering a response to loss and to what extent is my suffering simply self-pity?’

Excuse me; I have to try this door one more time. . .