Living in the Tension

     I don’t like tension.   I suppose most people don’t.   But I really don’t like it.  A restless soul is the worst form of torture for me.  It’s agony.

     I liken it to swimming deep underwater.  You know when you get to that point where you need to come back up for air?  When you need to take that next breath and it needs to be now.  It’s incredible how suddenly nothing else matters.  The joy of swimming, the underwater beauty, all of it disappears.  And instantly you feel the pressure of the water all around you, as if it’s literally pushing the oxygen out of your lungs.  You see nothing but the darkness of the water around you.  You want so desperately to take a deep breath, but you know you if you do, you will surely die.  And yet, in that moment, you truly believe if you don’t take that breathe you cannot survive.  You know the surface is up there somewhere.  At times seemingly so close that the anticipation almost worsens the distress.   At times, it feels so far away that you are convinced you will never make it to the surface, lest it be your lifeless floating body.  If you’ve ever experienced this, you know exactly the atmosphere I’m describing.  Living in the tension.

     What pains me and fascinates me concurrently is what happens in that tension.  All of those things that seemed to matter, and matter a great deal, suddenly seem silly.   And the monotony of everyday living is shattered by the acuteness of this pain.  Slowly, I am stripped of my pride as I realize how helpless I am.  I am stripped of my affections and pursuits as I have not the energy to fight for more than my very life.  I am stripped of my worries and plans for tomorrow as I can’t see past today.   Humbled as I realize I cannot buy my way out of this tension.   I cannot persuade my way out of this tension.   I cannot reason my way out of this tension.  I must live in it.

     Stripped of all semblance of a comfortable, easy street life, I lie naked before my God without the self-fabricated “coverings” of a polished up version of me.  It’s just You and me, God.  And finally…. Finally, I will let Him hold me in His arms.  Finally, I will be real about my hurts and fears.  Finally, I can hear His healing voice without any barriers.   Finally, I can find rest.

     I’m still underwater.  But I am learning that when I struggle to quickly get to the surface and out of this tension, the strain of not breathing is intensified.  Often times, the darkness and distortions of the water cause me to swim aimlessly in every wrong direction.  But when I am willing to live in the tension, as agonizing as it may be, at the very moment that I need it most, God breathes a breath of life into me.  And it’s enough to sustain me in this tension a few more moments until He breathes again. 

      Then one day, I will imperceptibly find myself out of the water and tension but still in my Savior’s arms.   Waiting and longing for nothing more than one more breathe.