Dense fog is not uncommon on the mountain where I live. (Actually, it’s not a mountain; it’s a plateau. But those who live in Sewanee, Tennessee affectionately call it The Mountain.) The thickest fog I have ever seen rolled into Sewanee a few minutes before a meeting of Grief Circle (a grief support group I facilitate on the campus of the University of the South) was to begin. I pivoted from the material I had prepared for the day and, instead, led the group outside to experience the fog.
I guided the group in a walking meditation in which we practiced putting one foot in front of the other—even when we could not see the path ahead. We went slowly, but kept going. We named our feelings of disorientation and fear. We came to appreciate what we could see—the dulled outline of a tree, the green hues of the moss that somehow seemed brighter on the stones at our feet—even while acknowledging what we could not. We talked about what we could not see but knew was there. We paid attention to the sounds—or lack thereof—and the way our bodies, minds and spirits felt as we made our way through the fog. It was the perfect metaphor for grief. Experiencing the fog in this way enabled the participants to talk about the dense and heavy grief through which they were walking.
Recently, I’ve found myself in a time of uncertainty as I moved with my family from rural middle Tennessee to the Boston area. I imagine many of you can relate to the unknowing and resulting fear that come with a major life transition. Where will we live? What shape will my calling take in this new place? What is best for our children?
I am surrounded by a thick cloud of “I-don’t-knows.” It’s much easier and certainly more comfortable to stay put, safe from the discomfort of limited visibility and uncertainty. In this season of uncertainty, prayer has not kept me out of the fog. Prayer has helped me experience the fog more fully and, in doing so, given me the space to process it. Stepping into the fog, into the unknowing, has been an act of prayer. Putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward despite not being able to see, is prayer. Allowing myself to simply be in the thick of it—in whatever spiritual or emotional fog that has rolled in—is prayer. It’s acknowledging that which I cannot see, but know is there just beyond my line of vision.
Pray. . .Give. . .Go.
