"There is no small talk at two o'clock in the morning," writes Kate and/or Jessica in this entry from their book, Good Enough.
Have you ever noticed that?
Have you ever noticed how you (or others) suddenly say things in the middle of the darkness of night that you would never say during the light of day? And you don't even decide to do it -- it just comes spilling out.
There are many conversations I wish could happen at 2:00 a.m. that instead happen at 2:00 p.m. - 2:00 p.m. when we are not our truest selves but instead are wearing the masks we always wear in the light of day - trying to be smart enough, successful enough, likable enough.
I think there is more truth spoken (for better or for worse) at 2:00 a.m. than at any other time. And pain probably feels more acute at 2:00 a.m. than at any other time too.
The realization of the difference between the 2:00 p.m. self and the 2:00 a.m. self crystallized for Kate on her middle-of-the-night plane rides for cancer treatments. She began to notice the "hard truth of living, that for many people, carrying on, for days and weeks, and months will feel like an existential struggle to simply keep living. For them, it's always 2:00 a.m."
Especially the woman pretending to wait for a flight but who lives, with her two children, in the airport.
"Once we know pain, it is like the dark side of the moon. Hidden from view, but every bit as real. The world is full of 2:00 a.m. people. It is me. It is you. So we reach out to hold hands in the dark" (p 207).
I love that last bit: "So we reach out to hold hands in the dark." Because we're not alone. Even if there's not something sitting next to us, we're not really alone.
I'm reminded of Frederick Buechner's words (which I used in my sermon from Sunday): “Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are, because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you."[i]
Blessed are you who see it all now. The terrible, beautiful truth that our world, our lives seem irreparably broken. And you can't unsee it. ...
May you experience deeper capacity and glimpses of hope, as you continue to see the world as it is. Terrible. Beautiful. Fragile.
Pastor Allison
I'm curious:
Check out the "A Good Enough Step" on page 209.
They call it "dislocated exegesis" - get out of your normal place of reading and see what happens, how the Spirit speaks in a different way.
Read Isaiah 40:1-26 outside after the sun has sunk over the horizon.
(Here's a link to 2 versions of the passage, including my favorite, "The Message!")
Read it once quietly. Then again out loud, slowly.
What do you notice about the passage? How do your surroundings inform what it means to you?
