The Wound--the Blessing

She left it on my bed with words of gratitude, giving in that quiet way she does. I cupped it in my hand and felt its weight—solid, like our time in Texas. We had talked a little, but not a lot—both a bit bewildered by the hole in our hearts. I told her I didn’t want to miss what God had for me here because of this longing for home…but it was hard. She told me when she phoned home her mother asked her what God is teaching her here. And I thought how wonderful to have a mother who would ask such a question and I tried to imagine if I could be that kind of mother. I so desperately want to be. And I pondered it in my heart.

Too many things.

It took me by surprise, this tender ache of missing. That first morning I went outside at daybreak. The sky white before the sun, blinding all the stars. I lay in the hammock and listened to a hidden crow croaking somewhere nearby. I told Him what I was thinking, and cried a little. His hand holds all the comfort. But when I opened my eyes the loneliness for the other half of me swooped in and pressed down hard.

I want to be where you are.

Later that morning, Scott Cairns spoke of recovering or rejoining our minds (nous) and our hearts (kardia). He imagined a kind of prayer that unites the two in the ways the saints spoke of.


Gather yourself together in your heart…Make secret prayer in your heart. (Saint Theophan the Recluse).

I held my hand over my heart as he spoke, imagined pressing my mind into this pulsing place—marrying the two primary ways I sense God’s presence. For a brief moment, I felt it hover there—this mind descended into the heart—and my entire self was engaged in a prayer that had no words. But it slipped away.

And again the aching empty.

Mr. Cairns quoted a father at a monastery he visited:

Like Jacob, you must hold on to Him. And like Jacob, you will be wounded. Like Jacob, you must say, ‘I will not let You go unless you bless me,’ and then the wound, the tender hip thereafter, the blessing…when you plead to know He is here, and when He answers you, and helps you to meet Him here, you will be wounded by that meeting. The wound will help you know, and that is the blessing.

The wound is the blessing.

So I carry my wound around the rest of the days and I feel it. The blessing.

This morning I unpack the cup, the gift. I wash its dense blue and gray-brown with warm suds and let it dry upside down as I pack the boys’ lunches. And when I’m ready, I wrap my fingers around its weight and drink from Laity again.

I asked Dan at the airport, what will you remember most? What tiny bit of treasure do you take with you?

And he talks about the time we were all together and we laughed so hard we cried. Yes, that was good.

And I think about the question Ann’s mother asked, and I’m still wondering.

I think about Jeff telling us that a story invites people in to discover for themselves…I remember how hard I listened. But the hummingbird feeder was just beyond our table and my eyes kept drifting to blurred wings darting in and out, landing light, dipping into sweet.

I remember after the reception, Vea and Deidra and I leaned against the car and looked up at the most amazing blanket of star-filled sky. Vea started to sing.

O Lord my God,
When I in awesome wonder
Consider all
The works Thy Hand hath made,

Then Deidra joined.


I see the stars,
I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy pow'r throughout
The universe displayed;

We three sang together under the stars.

Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art!
How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art!
How great Thou art! 

I remember running before sunrise under these same brilliant stars and dipping my hands in the Frio River.


I remember Ann and Ann doing dishes side by side, and Marcus drying. Tender arms around me when I break down over the missing, and fist bumps. I think of the hike we went on with Kenny and Scott—standing at the top of the canyon. And Ashley telling me about Kenny getting baptized in the Frio right in front of the lodge and the way she made the sacred hymns come alive for me. I remember.

I drink it in. I hold it in my hands. And I walk with a limp.

Because the wound is the blessing.