Opening Space
My living room sofa is wearing out. I’ve spent a little time with it lately and so I notice more when I get up that I’m leaving an imprint behind in the earthy plaid cushion. It could bother me, if it didn’t make itself so welcoming. Sort of like saying, “Look here, I’ve saved a seat for you.”
When I pull up a blanket on a cool fall afternoon and settle in with a book, the hollow of the foam and springs folds around me and I think how a davenport can seem made for me, the way it fits just right.
The long read — being still for an hour or more — it’s something I seem to have forgotten in a feckless habit of turning a few pages at the end of the day or between appointments, just filling in the gaps. But in taking the long draws I find the time required to enter the space between the pages, to separate the voices from the noise.
I’ve forgotten how important the space is.
::
I called on a wise friend a few weeks ago. I can’t quite explain how much that can feel like hanging by one foot from a dead tree branch over a rocky ledge for me. Imposing myself. Exposing my need.
Funny, she just poured me coffee. She didn’t lean hard on the branch just to see if it would snap and send me tumbling into the gorge.
I’ve lost my rhythms, I think. I’ve been fluffing the couch cushions, filling in and covering the imprints that fit me so well.
The marching around God and marching Him around, the making much of noise but not quite the right sound, the frenetic urgency that supplants a lifetime walk in tandem — this kind of living leaves me hollow.
My friend — I mentioned she’s wise? — she tells me I have options.
::
I’m finding a new set of imprints, other rhythms, in places where one wouldn’t normally find the likes of me. Places where I find that His ways are not ill-fitting, His presence expansive, His grace a feast.
There’s elbow room in the kind of place where words are spoken slowly, as though the point is to hear them, take them in — not to see how many can fit into an already crowded space. And an expanse opens unforced in the kind of place where the next thing is glad to wait for an old man to shuffle across the room.
Toe-tapping, wrist-checking, time-telling stops with but a faint bell in the distance announcing a vague hour on the clock.
Open space is there for the inhabiting. This I know.
A mosaic of colors dances on the wall as sunlight pushes its way through stained glass on a partly cloudy day and I discover He dwells in the open space with me.
::
Do not, best beloved, consider lightly
the intellective value of the soul. *
::
I’m seeking — and finding — space to find God. Where do you best find the open space for Him?
* Cairns, Scott. “The Human Soul.” Love’s Immensity: Mystics on the Endless Life. Brewster, Mass: Paraclete, 2007. Print.
{sigh}
2011/11/02 at 6:37 AM
That was good sigh, by the way. I just didn’t have words.
2011/11/02 at 1:17 PM
I think I heard it how it was intended, friend.
2011/11/02 at 4:46 PM
First of all, I’m so happy that you used the word davenport. It’s so delightfully midwestern. One hardly ever hears tell of davenports up here in New England. Second, pouring coffee is such an important ministry, I think. One that dares to open up space. I think I’m on a similar journey, one of finding space and learning to rest in it. It’s hard. Doesn’t lend itself to fitting inside a spreadsheet, which is how I’ve lived most of my adult life.
2011/11/02 at 8:00 AM
Davenport, as it turns out, is kind of a big deal here today. I do some work on the side in the furniture business and adopted the apparently universal “sofa” as “couch” also seemed to be a little Midwestern for some folks. Probably the ones who’d rather I not refer to them as “folks.” It’s handy, since I do that work mostly in Spanish, where “sofa” is indeed the universal word.
This learning to rest in something besides straight lines and grids and measurements, Nancy, it’s a true work in itself. But its rewards seem legion.
2011/11/02 at 4:49 PM
I had to look up the word “davenport.” I’m an east coast girl, you know? And I am always stretched when I come here. In good ways. Always in good ways. “Tandem” opened itself up to me and invited me in, to sit next to Jesus on that davenport of yours – where He takes the form of a woman under a blanket, turning the pages of a book.
I find Him right here, Lyla. In your words. In the deliberate way you choose them and pour them out on the page. I feel slowed, and calmed, and welcomed here. Every single time.
2011/11/02 at 8:34 AM
Of course, when I think of “tandem” I think of you…. Especially as I used it here. You do it well, with Him. You do. That you feel slowed here, this encourages me. I don’t always know .
2011/11/02 at 4:50 PM
and that my soul knows very well… Psalm 139:14
it is where he speaks… oh, that I would always listen and follow …
who would think that our very own soul could be such a wide open place for God…
you are opening yours for him to breathe into …
breathe deeply …
you may be letting go of your rhythm… but you are synching to his.
the photograph is breathtaking and life giving…
thank you for sharing your soul space with me.
2011/11/02 at 10:06 AM
His rhythms, Pat, are so much better than mine, fit me even better than my own. How can it be? That photograph, it’s a place I’m finding much restful space right now.
2011/11/02 at 4:51 PM
You said davenport! Mama D. would be so proud.
Seriously, now. … I’m settling in by you on the davenport, and settling in on that Cairns’ quote about the high intellective value of the soul. Fits with a verse I’ve been hanging around lately, 1 Cor 14:15 … “I will pray with my spirit, but I will also pray with my mind; I will sing with my spirit, but I will also sing WITH MY MIND.”
Everything is richer — our prayers, our work, our worship, our singing — when the mind is fully engaged. And you, dear friend, always engage mine.
2011/11/02 at 12:47 PM
Again with the davenport! Who knew it was such an interesting word?
The Cairns quote — have you read this volume? His poetic adaptation of the teachings of the church fathers and mystics. It is breathtaking. Breathgiving. That line was from “The Human Soul,” from Saint Makarios, also includes this:
Witness / the glory of the heavens and the earth, / and know that God took little pleasure / in them, preferring you.
I’ve been reading some challenging stuff lately — but this, his book, engages my mind in a refreshing way that I can’t explain.
2011/11/02 at 4:57 PM
Does your davenport still have the plastic on it? Those are the kind of couches that always got called “davenports” in my MidWestern world.
I have to say, this post almost undid me. I have been trying to find my rhythm again for a long time, fluffing those cushions, not sitting still long enough. I love how this post gives me hope, not guilt. “Open space is there for the inhabiting.” Yes, I need to inhabit that.
2011/11/02 at 6:54 PM
Charity, I hope it was hope. No guilt, please. I think I just need reminding sometimes it won’t come to me. I have to choose it. You too?
2011/11/04 at 3:38 PM
the photograph has a nice feel to it… and so do your words.
my grandma called it a divan
2011/11/02 at 7:17 PM
Nancy, I posted some time back about making chicken divan. Several people had never heard of it and thought I was baking a couch/sofa/davenport.
2011/11/03 at 6:38 PM
Lyla (and Jennifer):
As anyone from Iowa or its neighbors SoDak, Minn and Ill, know, davenport is one of the quad cities, along with settee, couch and divan. That’s what makes it such a midwestern noun. Shorter synonyms for davenport often are the answers in crossword puzzles too.
Soft, comfy sofas are almost better than a recliner. The only short coming with them is that for us seniors, they are difficult to climb out of.
I am enjoying and appreciating your season of contemplation. Keep it up.
Dad
2011/11/02 at 9:59 PM
Ooops!!! I noticed a typo. I meant to say “Quad Sitters”
Dad
2011/11/04 at 9:31 PM
“Open space is there for the inhabiting.”
I trip myself up over that one…because I imagine that there are applications to complete and submit for approval, security deposits to be paid, inspections–
When all I really need to do is be there.
2011/11/03 at 8:34 AM
So you went with Scott Cairns, huh?
That photo is exquisite, Lyla. One of my favorite things to do is to watch how the sun plays with the stained glass windows, especially in different seasons. On Good Friday, the window that just has Jesus’s face was illuminated, and the sun was streaming from it across half the sanctuary.
2011/11/03 at 10:28 AM
Megan, yes. It was Cairns. Though I think that’s what I wanted to do anyway. And, it was clearly the right choice for me right now. Love that on tbe stained glass.
2011/11/04 at 3:36 PM
What can I say?! I’m a davenport and stillness person. He’s always in that place of stillness.
2011/11/03 at 3:14 PM
I heard a man speak once about margins. He said we don’t begrudge the margins on a page, you know, the white space that takes up 43% and makes the black ink matter. So why do we do away with and begrudge margins in our lives, the white, quiet space that makes us see more clearly the black ink?
Your beautifully written post was a call for me to enjoy and seek out the margins again.
2011/11/04 at 8:45 AM
Now see, it’s the space that gives the rest of it a chance to mean something! Patty, I love what you’ve added to this for me. The space always seems like it’s begging to be filled with something. I think instead it’s cautioning us to let it be. Thank you for this.
2011/11/04 at 3:33 PM
My grandparents always referred to their sofa as the “divan.” And it was pink, like a fainting couch, so divan seemed a fitting term (how my grandfather ended up with a pink divan is beyond me. Apparently Nana wore the pants in that relationship).
Anyway, I just read a psalm this week that reminded me of this post and your writing here — something about God opening up a spacious place. Does that sound familiar? I wrote it down in my notebook…but I am sitting on the divan and far too lazy to get up to fetch said notebook and look.
2011/11/05 at 10:08 PM