Amoeba                                                                   1 August 2015

The Garden is hot this morning, and humid after an early morning rain.  Small puddles have arranged themselves throughout the yard, sparkling in dappled sunlight under tall trees.  I squat down to have a closer look, remembering childhood science lessons about puddle life.  Can I see signs of creation in these newly formed biospheres?

I remember writing a poem when I was 16 or 17, a poem wherein I described myself as an amoeba.  I had felt unprotected, vulnerable, and available by osmosis for all the world’s abuse to flow freely through my being.  In my poem, I was “skinless, a porous membrane open to the filth and fright of my environment.”  So much pain in my teenage life—the Viet Nam war, the Kent State massacre, and closer to home the cruelty of a teacher or the killing words of a peer.

To protect myself I constructed a wall of indifference built upon selfish indulgence, pretending not to care while sharpening a caustic criticism and judgement of others.  It was survival at the meanest and most self-destructive level, and I felt incredibly small, disconnected and worthless.

At the core of my being I knew there must be something “out there,” some great power, an essence that was good.  I searched constantly, but encountered evil as often as not.  I was tossed about by dark despair then suddenly rescued by amazing joy.  If the diagnosis was available back then, they would have labeled me bipolar.

But God pursued me; He was relentless.  It took decades, but His merciful love began to deconstruct my incarcerating wall.  In truth I did not do the demolition work; it was accomplished by the grace of Christ and the power of His Holy Spirit.  My part was to need, to trust, and to let God teach me love.

The 13^th century theologian St. Bonaventure described God as “a circle whose center is everywhere and circumference nowhere.”  I have come full circle in my older years, learning that with God’s powerful love in my spiritual core, I need no protecting layer to surround me.  I can be like the amoeba, open to the world’s conditions, to others, to suffering.  I can love in places and times of hopeless darkness and trial because His Spirit lives in me.  When my attitude is conquered, He can care through me, heal through me, clothe nakedness and bind up wounds.

I am grateful in the Garden this morning.  I am whole.