Monday, June 1, 2015

Detach

This morning I sat on the floor, praying for the Biden family and all those with broken hearts who have just lost someone they love. I know that pain. I thought about what I had read in the newspaper—after Joe Biden’s wife and daughter were killed in a car wreck and his two sons were badly injured, his mother gave him some advice: “Out of everything terrible that happens to you, something good will come of it if you look hard enough.”
 
If I look hard, I realize that out of the terrible things that have happened to me—the heartbreak, the seemingly unending losses, that something good had come of it for me. When I found myself on my knees, I realized that was where I needed to be. I needed to pray; I needed God in my life. I saw how little control I have over what unfolds in this earthly life and the only solution is for me to build a stronger relationship with God.

For years I have been on a crooked path, but a path that leads me to Him. Today I prayed, “Draw me closer to you. Show me how to live ever closer to your heart.” I prayed to stay on the mountain, for Him to show me how to live in this crazy broken world without losing the sense of being in God’s presence. I prayed for the Holy Spirit to guide me every minute of every day. And as I sat in silence, trying to just feel the Lord's presence, a word floated through my consciousness. I dismissed it. It came back again—detach. And so, detachment it is.

With detachment, come both certainties and questions. I know that to detach means truly forgiving past hurts. (Period—end of sentence.) I know that I have to detach from petty earthly longings like status and beauty and accomplishment. What it means about possessions I need to figure out. I like trinkets—my little collection of Mexican pottery, vintage Indian sari quilts, and those luscious pieces of Native American silver jewelry. I like cashmere and linen and Eileen Fisher clothes. (In defense of myself, I should point out that most of these things have been bought at thrift stores. But feeling defensive also means I have a certain amount of guilt for wanting them and a certain amount of attachment to the trinkets.) Do I thank God for those things and appreciate their beauty, or do I go all Mother Teresa and give them to the poor? I don’t know.
 
All I do know is that in order to draw closer to God, I need to surrender any illusion that I control my life. He is telling me that I need to detach from earthly things. What that detachment looks like will evolve over time. I’m looking at everything, looking hard. Something good will come of it.

6 comments:

  1. AnonymousJune 01, 2015

    I really wish there were a "LIKE" button under each post...

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  2. How kind you are. And I appreciate your taking the time to comment. Thank you!

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  3. AnonymousJune 02, 2015

    Oddly enough, the word detachment has been following me for a couple of weeks now... It could be that my favorite blogs are written by people my age or a bit older, and as we get older, I believe, earthly possessions start weighing us down, so somehow it seems natural to throw some of it off to lighten the load. Less is freedom (more time for ourselves), I guess.
    However, I love that you reminded us that detachment also means letting of old hurts and that total forgiveness would enable us to "detach" ourselves from overwhelming suffering and bring us closer to God.
    Thanks for sharing your reflections on the matter. Zene

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  4. Thank you, Zene. Perhaps we're just making the load lighter as we get older. When we end up with little, other than the attachment to those we love, we can freely move on and take that love with us.

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  5. AnonymousJune 06, 2015

    I agree about having a "Like" button. I feel that way about many of your posts. Thanks for taking the time to write.

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    Replies
    1. Awww. . . thank you, my little army of anonymous people! You could spoil me with all of these kind comments. I really appreciate the effort it takes to both read the blog and respond. Just when I think I should stop this craziness, you give me a reason to write.

      Donna

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