I cry a lot

Liz is on call today at the hospital and I've been feeling a bit down and ended up sleeping in late and never really got around to washing my face or brushing my teeth; anyways, we both found ourselves in the house on a Saturday afternoon. For some reason, we got on the topic of my relationship with my dad and I shared things with her that I don't really like to share with people. I started crying. Like a lot. Seems like a reoccurring theme these days.

As Christians, we live in the liminal space. We know about the death of Christ and we know about his resurrection and the hope of glory that is in the near distant future. But what about the here and now when prayers seemingly go unanswered for more than just a mere few years and heartaches settle into the steady rhythm of a dull throb that never really goes away? I, like many of the Christians I know, live in the liminal space.

So what do I do? I cry and lean on my Christian community. Liz and Emily came around me and took my hands and we prayed prayers that I have long forgotten or rather, have allowed myself to become disillusioned with. And the tears that fell from my eyes betrayed traces of what my heart longs for, and has longed for for quite some time. God, I would like a relationship with my dad. 

I started my day rather late. Actually 6:18 pm to be exact. I grabbed my ugly sneakers and drove out to lakeshore and parked at Foster Beach, my usual start-point for my long runs. And it was quite magical, or maybe even a little ominous because fog blanketed the entire lake and I couldn't see past a few feet for the entire duration of my 12-mile run. 

The liminal space. I'm waiting, and I'm trusting that Christ is just as glorified in this time period, not just in his death and in his resurrection.