Tag Archives: Song of Solomon

Veil of Tears 90: Abandoned

90 alone abandoned person-1171956_1280 pezibear pixabay

I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had left; he was gone. My heart sank at his departure. I looked for him but did not find him. I called him but he did not answer.” Song of Solomon 5:6 NIV

One of the hardest facts of life is that people move on. They may feel they’ve outgrown us or we them, or that there is too much distance or difference between us and them for any meaningful continuation of a relationship or friendship. Sometimes of course it is us doing the leaving behind.

Often these partings are the culmination of a slow demise, a difficulty communicating, or they may come after a break of trust. Other times it is a selfish move onto something or someone else who seems better, and we feel left behind, discarded, abandoned and alone, and often broken-hearted.

If we are abandoned and don’t see it coming, we can feel caught totally off-guard. It can feel like a catastrophe, as though the world were coming to an end. If it is the end of a marriage or relationship, it can also feel like a bereavement, as though half of us is missing. Like someone whose partner has died, we may well keep turning around to talk to someone who isn’t there. Devastated doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Some of us are abandoned by parents, either when very young, and put up for adoption, or later by needing to go into care. In the first case we probably don’t find out till later in life and have a great shock and a lot of questions to deal with, and in the latter, it must feel like the world has crumbled under our feet.

Even If we haven’t known any of these greater abandonments, we have surely all been left behind by someone we trusted or thought was our friend. However shallow or high the drop, the fall (not to mention the landing) is desperately hard. But perhaps at some point we can look back and see our abandonments with different eyes. Hindsight and time are great healers of course, so that is easier to do the longer it was ago. Maybe we can see a rescue or a release instead of a desertion. Maybe that relationship, that friendship or bad parenting was crushing us.

If I had not been abandoned myself many years ago, I might never have come to understand that greater and safer relationship in my life that I have with God. What a calamity that would have been! I will never make light of what I suffered in the aftermath of my heartbreak nor what any of us go through when we are cast aside, but I will begin to slowly and circumspectly rejoice that I have received instead a new heart, still scarred, but joined to my Lord, the living loving God of mercy who will never leave or reject me. To rejoice too in relationships that were made stronger in those years when I was at my most broken, and in the new ones that have come since.

It is certainly true that God can use all things for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose, as Romans 8:28 tells us. And we learn through these painful leavings and partings, whether of lovers or friends, that there is really only one person to be utterly relied upon, who will never leave us or forsake us.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt

Photo from Pixabay

73: Annoyances

73 annoyances mariamichelle pixabay

Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.” Song of Solomon 2:15 NIV

The little foxes here are more likely what western eyes would call jackals. In any case the sense I believe is of scavengers, animals that come in and chance their luck, taking whatever good thing we may have left lying around.

Sometimes it can feel like we have scavengers in our lives, little snouts coming in and grabbing pieces of our joy or peace, running off with them, leaving us annoyed and bereft. I have a lot of large problems in my life, but it is usually the little things that push me over the edge and get me upset. This morning, for instance, one of my “little foxes” is the 13-year-old boy over the road who is riding his mate’s motor scooter up and down the road. It’s noisy, and it’s distracting when I’m trying to pray or write, or in today’s case, stay annoyed with my beloved husband about a misunderstanding (another little fox). And with a carer coming and a boiler man later, I guess I need to resign myself to the fact that today is going to be one of those days.

It’s odd because last night I had a lovely moment with my dad on the phone as he spotted a beautiful red fox in his garden. I felt like I was watching it with him. And I suppose that whilst I love foxes and think they are stunning and worth protecting, I also don’t particularly want their cousins nibbling away at my hard won peace. I guess a fox outside someone else’s window is more appealing than one rummaging in my dustbin.

I know that, as Meister Eckhart teaches us, all this small stuff is just so much weather passing. That we are the mountains and not the clouds that swirl around our summits, distracting and upsetting us. And often I can still myself and remember to connect with the Lord’s joy which is my comfort and shelter at such times. But no matter how much we steel ourselves against the big storms, it is often the big splattery raindrops that hit us bang on the nose that get our blood pressure rising. Not the wolves at the door, but the little jackals running in and out to glean the grapes we worked hard to bring to fullness, are the ones who really get our goat and set off our anger.

Our best defence at such times is perhaps to see the ludicrousness of it all, to be generous in our thoughts towards those who cause the niggles, and to accept that these things are going to happen. It is just going to be one of those days. I will still pray and write and trust the Lord. I’ve had a weepy five minutes, and a short session of whingeing prayer (we all need one of these occasionally) and now I shall take some deep breaths and await the rest of the pack of little foxes. Perhaps I shall find instead that they have taken themselves off elsewhere, and if not, I have my refuge somewhere deep down inside.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt

Photo from Pixabay