As I come to the conclusion of a year in which I chose to let go of those things by which I might most easily recognize myself, and be recognized: my life in pastoral leadership with a congregation, my attendance at Sunday worship, my familiar spiritual practices, I pause on the threshold to look back. Today I glimpse the soft trail of the spiral’s ending just as it casts off into beginning again. And I find this question, rising up to the surface once more. “What would it look like, in this moment, to take one small step in the direction of Love?”
This reflection too is a spiral. It holds, at the centre of its curving, the seed of an earlier post. It holds the question posed me by a wise woman. It wasn’t an asked question. It was truly given. I have carried it with me in the place that is the last to close up in fear or anger, in fatigue or frustration, in the pressure of near impossible
choices, in the moment when I have nearly lost myself.
What would it look like to take one small step in the direction of Love?
It’s sometimes possible to make this almost imperceptible of movements when everything else feels too much to ask of yourself, when everyone else’s good suggestions have become a burden. Deep in the folds of your heart this small question rests.
What would it mean, in a nearly imprisoned moment, or in an expanse of fearsome freedom to take one small step in the direction of Love?
This question led me into the year just past, accompanied me, and now breathes me into the choices of the year to come. I long to answer each possibility before me with this question, What would it look like . . . ?
What would it look like? This tiny step, fragile as dew on the grass; soft and holy as sun on the shoulder of the day.
What would it look like, again and again and again?