Curiosity and Christmas
A couple of weeks ago, my husband asked me if there was some part of who I was as a child that I have lost. Was there some way of being that I missed in my adult self? My answer has sent me on a journey of grief (no surprise, there) and reclaiming that I did not anticipate.
I told Wes that I miss my love of books and reading. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a reader and Wes jokes that we have a pipeline to Amazon, but I don’t have the same joy or the same intensity of delight and discovery. I don’t think it’s getting old that is the problem. I’ve been this way for awhile. I read out of habit, not from a place of desire.
But the part of me I miss the most is my curiosity. Most people who know me might be confused at this statement because “Be curious.” is something I say all the time. But the kind of curiosity I am talking about is holy and requires the focus of a painter, lost in the process and the quiet. For example, I used to spend hours studying plant nodes in the winter, wondering what was happening in that space, how and when it would sprout a leaf, fascinated by their placement and size, etc. Always wondering with a feeling of excitement and calm as well as a lost sense of time.
Physical Science class at Robert E. Lee High School was that kind of experience for me. A whole world opened up as I learned how electrical circuits and batteries worked, how spark plugs fired the fuel which made a car move. I was fascinated with car engines, light switches, batteries, etc. I was given the keys to how the world worked and at the end of the year my teacher asked if I’d be interested in participating in an Advanced Placement (AP) science course the next year. Literature class was the same way and I was automatically slated to be put in AP Literature. My mind was a sentient part of me: alive, feeling, seeing, understanding, and aware. I loved learning.
As I talked with Wes, I realized that the year of expected AP courses did not happen and nothing of what I loved came to fruition. We were sent to live with my dad and stepmother and the walls of darkness closed in on my mind, body, and spirit. My sweet traumatized brain had little room for curiosity and exploration in what was a toxic and abusive environment. I was focused on survival.
Recently I joined a book club and the brilliant women who are in it talk and wonder with perspicuity and depth about great literature. It is so good to have company and is helping to massage my love of words as I wait for more awakening.
In this season of Advent, I am acutely aware of the ache of having to wait. Not only for Jesus but for things that are not right in the world to be restored. Waiting is part of what it means to live on this earth. To hold the reality of the wonky and sometimes painful present as we hope for something different and even more beautiful for the future is challenging and often heart-rending. So, I live in the now with my loss and pursue goodness and hope of restoration as best as I can…
I am holding my time with my dad and stepmom open and allowing the grief to come. I am being curious and hopeful and waiting. I am waiting for Jesus and also know He is right here with me in this process of healing. It is good to have His company and eyes reminding me He is crazy about me with or without my curiosity! And really, all we need is company. That is enough.
Have a merry, frolicsome, bright, and significant Christmas!!!
HE IS COMING! (and so is my next book!!!)
P.S. What do you miss? What is lying dormant that you would like to find again? On what adventures might the answer to these questions take you?!