It’s been a crazy crazy crazy few weeks – lots of transition, lots of doors and windows closing and opening. As a result, much of my creative energy has been put toward navigating the still-unfamiliar landscape of transition and newness. However, I hope to now be back and writing with some regularity.
In light of said transition, I’ve got a poem today from Wendell Berry, one of his Sabbath Poems from 1999 – VI.
We travelers, walking to the sun, can’t see
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
That blessed light that yet to us is dark.
I have a friend who recently marked a milestone in her career, and this poem seemed quite fitting for the occasion. It kept coming to mind as I thought about my own transition as well – about how, prior to starting seminary, the sun that was lighting my path was (and always is, I think) before me – shining into my eyes so brightly that it was as if I was driving due west across Texas at sunset. It was only as I was able to look back and see both my shadow cast and the light shining on all that was behind me that I could see the way my path was leading. I’m now again in a place where the path ahead of me is obscured by the very light that shines on it. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to the obscure brightness, but I love Wendell Berry’s optimism about it – about the blessings we cannot yet see.