on being empty.

My life is cluttered in every sense of the word. It's remarkable the ways in which I can whittle away my time. New York makes it easy to be busy at literally every second of the day, and I am no stranger to the lure of "more". When I first moved here I hated the thought of being still, and did everything I could to make the most of this city. It had been my only dream for so long, and I wasted no time in living it to the full.

Fast forward four years and the pace is the same, with one difference: I am finding that my world is still very full, but everything inside of me seems to be moving in slow motion. Part of this is because I recently lost love, but I think the greater reason is that I am growing.

When we plant seeds, we do not see them sprout for months on end. Waiting for the seasons to change can be painstakingly passive. Even so, we know that spring is coming. So we watch and pray that beauty will take root and hope will rise again. Sometimes, we have to remind ourselves what is happening beneath the surface even when the ground looks barren. 

But when we can't remember, it is tempting to abandon our tilled fields and look for a quicker form of sustenance. Understanding there's no guarantee that the flowers will bloom again can feel debilitating. Letting go in order to make room for something unknown is a disorienting experience. The reasons to hold onto our misery are boundless in the face of uncertainty, because at least we are holding on to something.

I think this is why I have worked so hard to not experience emptiness...I am afraid there will be nothing to fill it, and I'm afraid of who I am without everything I hide behind. Within our culture, we often look at the word empty as a bad thing. We say the glass is half full, but what if that half no longer serves us? What if we are carrying around a glass filled with stagnant water, or bacteria? We wouldn't be so keen to drink it then. 

This is what I am learning: emptiness must precede fullness if we wish to grow from where we are now. We cannot move forward without emptying ourselves of all that has kept us stuck. And while we squirm in the stillness of a hollowed out heart, there is much to be learned in the echo of its unoccupied chambers. 

In the process of becoming empty, we see things a bit more clearly, which is really the reason why most of us avoid it to begin with. We may find parts of us we don't like so much, or aspects of our current situation which are less than desirable. We may see that we are not so comfortable with ourselves, not so at home in our own souls.

This is a sad thing, to not be able to come home to yourself.

For the truth is, we are only as connected to those around us as we are to ourselves. Being able to sit with who we are in the stillness of our chest teaches us compassion. Allowing ourselves to shake hands with the messy parts, the shadows we are so afraid of, actually heals our dry bones.

And as we get to know our inmost being in this manner, as we lovingly face what lies within, we begin to let go. We release ourselves from the burden of being broken, we whisper comfort to the chaos below. We find that God has been there all along, beckoning us to see ourselves underneath the dirt we thought determined who we are.

Because the truth is, being emptied just gives us space to be our truest, most alive self.  It makes room for where we are going, for all that we can be if we'd just let ourselves get there.

Being emptied always leads to being full.

There is a story in the old testament about a woman whose husband died and left her with crippling debt. When asked what she had to pay it off, she said her only remaining possession was a small jar of olive oil. In her state of distress, a prophet instructed her to ask all her neighbors for their empty jars. In fact, he said:

"Don't ask for just a few."

Upon returning home, she was told to pour her small jar of oil into these empty jars, until every single one of them was full. And by way of a miracle, she did. She was able to then sell them and eradicate her debt completely.

Her life was no longer determined by her past, her destitution, or her perception of herself as a widow.

She was free. She had a future, and it was good.

But she had to empty her jar.

And trust that it would be filled again.

She had to trust that in the process of emptying what she believed to be her only possession,

she would be abundantly filled beyond her wildest expectations.

Sometimes I wonder how many blessings I have missed out on because of what I was holding on to instead. We become so afraid of losing that we develop tunnel vision, doubting that we could ever receive more than what we carry in the moment. Refusing to imagine what is waiting for us just on the other side of the door, if we could only have faith to walk through it.

So.

These days, I'm practicing being empty. I'm leaning into the promise that I will need more than a few empty jars in this coming year. I am finding that as I gently release the identities I clung so tightly to, there is more light that shines through. 

More love.

More hope.

More peace.

I am full.

Emptiness always leads to fullness.

Don't be afraid to pour everything out.

To dig up the ground and part with your last seeds.

Winter will end soon enough,

and spring is waiting just below the surface.