Writings of a Beholder 🌿 9.1.23
Darkness as a womb
Darkness as a Womb
I’ve always been afraid of the dark.
I remember my childhood bedroom was near the stairs on the second level of our old home when I was growing up, and most nights I would lay there in the dark imagining something spooky sauntering up the stairs, lurking there to snatch me from my warm bed.
That’s a pleasant thought for a Friday morning, isn’t it?
Well, it was my reality, and sometimes still is. Sometimes there are nights even as an adult where bumps in the night will make me wonder what’s hiding there in the darkness. There are nights when my anxiety and worry are only heightened after the lights go out.
I never really understood why the dark scared me so easily until recently when I read these words penned by Tish Harrison Warren in her book, Prayer in the Night.
“The term ‘vulnerable’ comes from a Latin word meaning ‘to wound’. We are wound-able. We can be hurt and destroyed, in body, mind, and soul. All of us, every last man, woman, and child, bear this kind of vulnerability till our dying day.
And every twenty-four hours, nighttime gives us a chance to practice embracing our own vulnerability.”
To fall into sleep, to let the darkness cover us each night, is about as vulnerable as it gets. And I knew this, as soon as I read her words, I knew that was really the root of my fear. It wasn’t so much the darkness itself, but what that darkness represented.
I am human. I am wound-able. I am vulnerable.
In the black of night, we fumble for a light switch when something goes amiss because our eyes aren’t trained to see in the dark. I fear being wounded there in the darkness because I’m hyper-aware of how vulnerable I am. And in being hyper-aware of my fear of vulnerability, I become hyper-aware of my lack of trust in the God Who sees me and everything else that I cannot.
This fear of darkness isn’t just a childhood phase; it’s followed me into adulthood because facing my own vulnerability is a scary thing. I imagine it is for most, if not all, of us. We don’t like to think of ourselves as wound-able. I know I don’t. I’d much rather pretend that I’m capable and strong enough to handle anything and everything that comes my way, even the darkness.
But the truth of the matter is that I’m not.
Behind the armor and tough talk, I’m scared. I’m afraid of what I can’t see, of what could wound me, of what I don’t know and of what I don’t understand.
And even this, these honest, ugly fears, are further evidence of my vulnerable and fragile humanity.
I realize as I face this fear of the dark that I’ve spent a good amount of my life also fearing my own humanity — despising it at times, even. Despising the weaknesses that come with being human; fears, wounds, hurts, losses, grief, mistakes, and regrets.
Because of this, I had made the darkness enemy number one. I’ve feared nighttime the most because it highlights all that I despise about myself — my weaknesses, my wounds, my anxieties, my hurts. So I learned at a very young age to shove it away — all of it — pick myself up by my bootstraps, and carry on like I’m strong enough to face down the dark alone.
Until grief came for me, shattering me, making the darkness my home.
Over the last year, this fear of the dark — this fear of being human — has slowly begun to melt into something else. It’s happened so subtly that I didn’t even notice the fear fading until one day when I began reflecting on it with my spiritual director.
She described the type of grief and darkness I had been in the midst of as a womb — a darkness that held and nurtured and grew good things.
“Not all darkness is bad, evil, or scary”, she said to me. “Sometimes, darkness can be restful, healing, even soothing.”
She called the darkness a womb, a sacred place where God was with me, growing me, healing me, and making me a little bit more whole. My fear of the dark — my fear of being human — has changed over this last year because I’ve finally faced down the darkness with Jesus rather than running from it, rather than running from myself.
Did you know that there is an entire class of flowers that only bloom at nighttime?
I didn’t, until reading Prayer in the Night where Tish Harrison Warren explains that “moonflowers, evening primroses, and other night bloomers can only be glimpsed in full glory if you venture out after dark”. She continues,
“And there are things in our spiritual lives, too, that only bloom in the dark. I’m afraid of the dark, but increasingly I’m more afraid of missing the kind of beauty and growth that can only be found there.”
Sometimes, there are nights when the darkness still irks me, just like there are days when my own vulnerable humanity irks me. But rather than being insidiously afraid of it — running from it — I’ve learned to acknowledge it, let it hold me even, let God hold me and love me in it so that His Love can heal those fearful parts of me.
I’ve learned to lay down in the dark and let it cover me, let hide me, let it heal me and grow me.
I’ve learned to let the dark be a place where God is with me.
Because of this, good things have started to grow there in the dark. This bed of grief and hurt is being transformed into compassionate healing, love, and a newfound contentment in my present life. Because I’m learning to embrace the dark — embrace my own humanity and all that comes with being human — I’ve experienced God as the One Who comes close, sits cross-legged on the ground next to me, and lights a candle to illuminate my darkness.
Psalm 119:105 takes on an entirely different meaning when I think of darkness as a path to Jesus, a path to healing, a path to growth.
“Your word is a lamp before my feet
and a light for my journey.” (CEB)
If life wasn’t so dang heavy, so dang dark, there would be no need for a lamp. But even God knows how arduous it can all feel so instead of removing the darkness, He provides a way forward. He cultivates a space within the dark conducive to Love.
He shines a light — becomes the Light we need to put one foot in front of the other because He knows the journey is long and that we get soul-weary and ragged.
There are nights when I feel afraid still of what I don’t know, what I can’t see, and what I don’t understand. There are days when my own reflection seems foreign and hard to look at.
And then there’s Him, the One pulling me close, speaking words of tenderness and love and light into my dark and doubting places.
Because maybe, just maybe, not all of our darkness is bad. Maybe our doubts and frustrations and questions and hurts are welcome and not dismissed.
Perhaps it’s there, in the dark, where we encounter the God Who never leaves.
With you on the journey,
Celia
Life Lately
A Breath Prayer for Your Weekend
breathe in:
You are the Light.
breathe out:
That leads me. (adapted from Psalm 119:105)
*If you’d like to learn more about the practice of breath prayer, download this complete digital guide to practicing breath prayer.
Resources & Good Things to Pick Up
Get Tish Harrison Warren’s book, Prayer in the Night here: On Amazon
Last week, I added a new journal to my Etsy shop, The Beholding Co., and it’s my favorite one yet! It says ‘behold’ on the cover and it would be perfect for reflecting on your own beholding moments with God or for any of your written thoughts and prayers: Beholding Journal
Grab some breath prayer cards, a journal, a candle, and other contemplative resources from my Etsy shop: The Beholding Co.
Grab a copy of my Bible study, You Are Beloved: a 21-day study on how to root your identity in the love of God, over on Amazon. If you’d like a free 3-day sample of the study, reply to this email and I’ll send it right over!
My friend and licensed spiritual director, Kari Bartkus, offers an 8-week journaling program for those who want to process their grief and trauma with God within the safety of blank journal pages. I’ve completed the program myself and can say confidently that it was incredibly impactful and healing: Journal Gently
An Invitation to Pause & Reflect
A regular practice of reflection helps us recognize what’s going on beneath the surface of our souls so we can name it in the Lord’s presence. Because as we learn to name what we feel, what we need, and what we long for, we’re also learning to discern the Spirit’s sweet, gentle voice within our hearts and lives.
Take a few moments today or this weekend to journal or contemplate with the Holy Spirit the following question(s) or prompt(s):
What might it look like to let God draw near to you in your own darkness?
What scares you? What might be the Spirit’s invitation to you in the midst of that fear?
In what ways do you see God lighting a lantern on your path in this season?
You are not the only who gets scared at all the noises that go bump in the dark at night. Sometimes I get like that in the early morning hours, especially if I am by myself. I know that God is always with me even in the dark. When I remember I ask him to send down his angels to protect me in the dark while I sleep and to hold me while I sleep. Have a blessed evening.