It's not an oxymoron. It just feels like one.

To be active is to be energetic, engaged, and lively.

To wait is to stay put, linger, and to mark time.

Put them together and you have what is known as active waiting.

It feels like an oxymoron, but it’s not.

As I write this, winter isn’t over but spring is on the way. Snow is still on the ground while underneath things are preparing to grow. Branches are budding but haven’t yet bloomed. Mama elk patiently carry their calves while waiting to give birth once the vegetation they depend on for food is more plentiful.

Nature seems to understand the importance of actively waiting.

Human beings, not so much.

We are doers, not waiters, and trying to do both at the same time feels like a crazy maker. Like trying to rub your tummy and pat your head. We can do one or the other, but not both. We can either do something or wait, but not both.

But what if Nature knows what she’s talking about? What if she knows that wisdom lies in preparing for what is ahead by staying present to what is here now. By staying put while continuing to look down the road. Allowing things to unfold rather than forcing them before their time. Letting more puzzle pieces make themselves known while arranging the ones we have.

Active waiting might look like writing a little something everyday while allowing that creative idea to percolate. Packing up one room at a time here so so as to be ready to move there. Designing a new garden while snow is still on the ground. Applying for a job while still fully engaged in the one we have. Reflecting on what is on our side of the fence before talking about what is on theirs. Focusing on what is right in front of us while not losing sight of where we are headed. Being fully in the present while anticipating the future. Staying with what is so as to be better equipped for what is to come.

Active waiting isn’t an oxymoron.

It just feels like one.

The Invitation

You do not need to know

precisely what is happening,

or exactly where it is all going.

What you need is to recognize the possibilities

and the challenges offered by the present moment,

and to embrace them with

courage, faith, and hope.

Thomas Merton

There is, it seems, always an open invitation from life, even in the midst of bittersweet endings and uncharted beginnings. The invitation isn’t to somewhere else, but to be fully where we are, for it is from here that we must ground ourselves to take the next right step. And the next, and the next, and the next.

Endings of any sort mean the letting go of what has been and the leaving behind of what we’ve known, which, if we let it, will lead to the melding of gratitude and grief into the precious metal of grace. The deeper the gratitude and the more profound the grief, the longer we may need to linger at the threshold between what has been and what will be. These are the days of intentional packing, intentional goodbyes, and intentional moving on. There will be days when we can only pause and rest, and others when we must forge ahead regardless of how weary we feel.

Whether the selling of the longtime home in which we’ve raised a family, the retirement from a meaningful career, the fading of a vision that cannot be brought to life, the loss of a breast, or the ending of a relationship that cannot live up to the commitments made, the invitation is to stay fully engaged in life. Right here. Right now. Trusting that the ground beneath our feet will hold, as it has, as it is, and as it will.

Betwixt And Between

Father Richard Rohr defines a liminal space as the place that is betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown.

That definition rings true, and sounds familiar, as this is the space where I find myself more often than not. That place between what I’ve known in the past, and that has perhaps served me well, but with a few more steps along my journey encountering new experiences, new information, new people, and new perspectives, I can no longer count on what I’ve known to guide my steps. This is, I think, how we are meant to travel in the world—letting go of certainty and grabbing ahold of curiosity instead. 

It is usually when I am sure that I know for sure, that I find out that I usually don’t. So much for certainty. 

Liminal places aren’t found periodically along our journey. They are the journey. 

True North

There are such things as magnetic moments. Times when we sense an inner pull, an invitation to step more fully into our lives, calling us to our own true north, that unique, authentic, wholehearted life that is ours, and only ours, to live. 

Magnetic moments ask us to step over the threshold of uncertainty and fear, cross over the border of the familiar and the comfortable, and venture into the unknown. Marking both the ending of what has been, and the beginning of what could be, it is the threshold that bridges the gap. Sometimes that threshold sits beneath a door that opens inward, drawing us deeper into self-knowledge and awareness. This usually requires that we find the courage to look into our shadows, those parts of ourselves that we prefer to ignore or keep hidden, or those issues and relationships that call for our attention, but are painful, or scary to look at. Other times we are invited to venture further out, beyond the boundaries we’ve come to count on. Taking risks, embarking on new work, making important changes, practicing new ways of being in the world.

In case, like me, you didn’t know this, there is a difference between magnetic north and true north. A compass automatically points to magnetic north, which shifts over time, while true north does not change. In order to find true north a compass must be adjusted. Magnetic moments are an alert to adjust our inner compass. In the world of auto-correct, adjustments happen automatically on our devices, but not so in our own lives. Recognizing that magnetic pull, we adjust our inner compass to make sure it is aligned with who we are and what we care about. This adjustment doesn’t keep us safe…It keeps us true.

Magnetic moments are game changers, and the choice is always ours to step over that threshold.

Or not.

Either way the game changes.

This first day of the new year is a chance to adjust our inner compass, allowing it to help us make any necessary course corrections so as to step boldly towards true north. The life that is ours, and only ours, to live. This adjustment won’t keep us safe…it will keep us true.

First light of the first day of a new year.