reflections from bermuda #5
Comfort. Forget about comfort. Penetrating words of the soul. Those words seem pointed even poignant as I sit here in the middle of this tropical paradise. It is a glistening summer morning and I am perched upon a hilltop veranda overlooking the shining town of Hamilton.
Forget about comfort. What comfort? The padded cushions surrounding my body? The chilled water cooling my throat? Hmm. This setting does not belong to me and yet I am grateful to be a part of it. The opportunity to sit in contemplation. Butterflies. Peepers. Kiskadees. All break the reverie. Wait. Do they break it or generously add to it? They are all a part of this tropical Eden.
The garden. The beginning. “And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed.” (Genesis 2:25) Why are we now so fearful to be naked—both physically and I believe more accurately, spiritually? Given the choice, I imagine people would choose to bare themselves physically more easily than let someone see the inner recesses of their heart. Why? It is such a paradox, because we live our lives desiring to be seen and truly known yet still we hide.
“And the man said, ‘I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself’.” (Genesis 3:10). And so we hide in our comfort. We hide behind our clothes. Our image. Our jobs. Our homes. We say we are serving others; catering to their needs—our children, spouses, bosses, friends. Of what are we afraid? Being selfish? Being wrong? Being seen for who we truly are? Being naked?
We build up savings accounts for old age. We work until we can work no more and then ask, “Where did my life go? I have built this comfort and still I am not comfortable. What happened?”
Comfort. The comfort of the womb. The safety of a bosom cradling a child's head. The joy of being seen and truly known. Connection. Relationship. True comfort comes from authentic relationship. Relationship with God; with others; with ourselves.
Forget about comfort—whatever comfort is. These are words spoken to me from the inner most recesses of my heart. And as I write, I realize that it is not comfort that I should forget about, but the illusion of comfort for it is the illusion that has the ability to keep me locked in fear and turmoil. (to be continued)
photos by lucy