Unhidden

I am coming to understand that it is much harder to create connections that are deep and lasting where you keep yourself hidden. Knowing that you are with the right people and the Right Person requires a certain vulnerability; an ability first of all to see yourself as you truly are, and then to let others see you too. How many of us do that? How much do I?

I think that perhaps I have paid too much attention to others in the past, in my own quest not to be an island. It has mattered so much not to be left out or left behind or left over. Water has stronger boundaries than I have done, it seems. I wonder why it has taken me so long to learn that there is a better balance to be found. Is it a more grounded confidence that comes only with age? With the experience of decades rather than mere years?

Our experiences are all infinitely different. Every timeline has its own interweaving thread in the fabric of a universe that spreads across the whole earth and through the whole of time. We are all an infinite tapestry of everything we have ever experienced, and it fascinates me that we are now exploring epigenetics, the things that are passed down to us through the generations that have walked the path ahead of us and therefore before us, the same path that will keep flowing along beyond us through our children and our children’s children. This whakataukī from Te Ao Māori tingles my skin: Tū mai e moko. Te whakaata o ō mātua. Te moko o ō tīpuna; Stand strong, child. The reflection of your parents. The blueprint of your ancestors.

There must be so much in me that’s worth taking a look at. So much in you too.

There’s a story in the Bible, where Elisha asks a widow to take the last small jar of oil that she has and pour it out to fill as many jars as she and her son can lay their hands on. They pour and pour and pour, until her son says that there are simply no jars left. What a risk, what a step of trust and faith! We are told that it was a time of famine and scarcity in Israel. I wonder if they feared that they would lose even the little they had, I wonder if they thought twice about releasing it, I wonder if there was a part of either of them that thought they would be far safer to save it, I wonder if they decided that they just didn’t have anything else to lose.

I wonder if we are like that first jar of oil. We keep ourselves safely in that small jar, so aware of how fragile a clay jar can be. What would happen if we took the risk and began pouring out the oil inside us? How many jars might be filled? How much of what we hide would take our breath away? How much of our oil would make a difference to those around us?

Because in Biblical times, oils were incredibly precious.

And, at the moment, it seems that oil is precious to me too. It has come up more than once, in different places and conversations. I can picture it in my head, oil flowing from my head to my feet, golden and glistening, as it loosens everything that is seized and tight. It catches the sun, the sun that my friend Lorraine spoke of, and so do I. No longer just the oil golden and glistening but me too. You already know that I am moonlight.

And I find myself wondering, is this how God does things? He fills us with oil. The oil of our gifts, experiences and strengths. And He invites us to pour it out, to share, and to trust in its preciousness. The hidden becoming unhidden when we are ready to accept His invitation. Because He thinks that I am amazing. And He is waiting for me where my Earth thread meets His Heaven thread. And it is a step of trust, a step of faith, to say it’s OK to unhide.

And if I can do it, so can you. Because He thinks that you are amazing too.

I am glad I listened to myself when I decided to call my blog Finding Elaine. I can say honestly that I had no idea what I would find when I began. I still don’t know where I will finish. Or when. But, oh my goodness, walking my path, intentionally, courageously, looking around me at every viewpoint, is he best choice I ever made. And writing about it means that I can see how far I have walked. I think words carry incredible power, and pinning mine to a page means that I will never be lost.