May 9, 2020
Whenever we move, I notice two things: 1) that I cry a lot, and 2) that one day suddenly seems equivalent to one week. Not only does it feel this way after we move, but every time I delve into a new endeavor (nice alliteration, if I do say so myself). I always comment on how crazy this phenomenon feels and wonder why. Why does it feel that way?
When I find words or phrases that describe what I am feeling, it makes me feel less crazy. And it’s so nice to feel less crazy. There is relief when I find out an article or book has been written about a certain topic or experience. “Oh, there’s a book about this?! I’m not the only one?! Thank goodness!”
The phrase I uncovered this past week, while reading Richard Rohr’s meditations, is the phenomenon of “liminal space.”
According to Rohr: “Liminal space is an inner state and sometimes an outer situation where we can begin to think and act in new ways. It is where we are betwixt and between, having left one room or stage of life but not yet entered the next. We usually enter liminal space when our former way of being is challenged or changed—perhaps when we lose a job or a loved one, during illness, at the birth of a child, or a major relocation. It is a graced time, but often does not feel “graced” in any way. In such space, we are not certain or in control.” (https://cac.org/)
Liminal space. So that’s what that is.
We moved from Montana to South Dakota almost three years ago. Talk about liminal space. New house, new schools, new church, new community, new state. New everything.
We experienced a lot of grief our first several months here, more than we could have anticipated. Luckily, though, we made friends, created routines, and that grief faded. We found ourselves excited about and embracing new opportunities. We experienced powerful growth– growth individually and growth as a family unit. It was in that liminal space that I discovered coaching, stopped teaching (which is what I thought I would do forever and ever, amen), and even wrote a book (because why not).
Then just when things seemed like they were settling down, and we were settling in to comfortable routines and our new “normal,” enter, corona. Sigh. Rohr noted, “This global pandemic we now face is an example of an immense, collective liminal space.”
You got that right.
When we don’t know what will happen next, what our schedules will be like, it feels uncomfortable. I like to have control. But alas, just when I think I have some control, I am reminded this is not the case.
However, Rohr goes on to note the hope, excitement, and growth opportunity in this: “The very vulnerability and openness of liminal space allows room for something genuinely new to happen. We are empty and receptive–erased tablets waiting for new words. Liminal space is where we are most teachable, often because we are most humbled.”
The prophet Jeremiah wrote to the surviving Jews, exiled from Jerusalem to Babylon, to persevere and be encouraged, even in their time of suffering and uncertainty. Jeremiah reminded these people that even though they did not know what was next, God did. The Lord declared, “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,” (Jeremiah 29:11).
Even though this popular scripture was written to a group of exiled Jewish folks years and years ago, I still find hope in God’s promise through these living words. So my takeaway is 1) Things could be a lot worse, and I could be in exile for 70 years or so and 2) It is uncomfortable living in this pandemic, it’s okay to feel sad and express our personal grief, and at the end of the day, God promises hope (I guess point #2 just turned into points #2-5).
Be encouraged! Give yourself time and space to be sad and to grieve, and also seek to find hope and growth opportunities during this time of unprecedented uncertainty. Blog ya later.
