Only A Reflection


“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” –1 Cor. 13:12

A_SaskiaWhen the fear of loss overwhelms, only a reflection, only a reflection
When the “Why Lord?” comes, only a reflection, only a reflection

When the grief cripples your soul, only a reflection, only a reflection
When we still just don’t know, only a reflection, only a reflection

When the morning sun hits the sea, only a reflection, only a reflection
When lifting my eyes to the great peaks, only a reflection, only a reflection

When the days tasks are daunting, only a reflection, only a reflection
When left in a place of wanting, only a reflection, only a reflection

When experiencing the greatest of kindness, only a reflection, only a reflection
When living out love at its finest, only a reflection, only a reflection


My soul groans for the fullness, the moment of knowing. In this fractured and broken life, the glimpses, the questions, the depths of soul’s desire, leave me longing for the face-to-unveiled-face encounters with the divine.

Yet, I have found myself living in the reflection and forgetting that, one day, we shall see and we shall know fully. I have been acknowledging that in this world we will have trouble, and forgetting to “take heart.”

The miracles, the hope, the zeal with which I originally embraced my faith, have eroded away to staring cynically into the mirror, refusing to see the goodness for all the grim and despair. Every blessing comes with a “but …” Every prayer has been spoken out of fear, instead of gratitude. The mirror has become smudged, the vision blurred. I have been afraid that the reflection will destroy my sight.

I have not remembered that He came to bring Life Abundant. Instead I have been holding on by my fingertips to just life. I have forgotten the blessing: that I was made for Him, and that my heart ‘”will be restless until it rests in Him.”

I have not remembered that in Lamentations, the great book of grief, there is a promise of great love, of great compassion, of great faithfulness. That we are invited to sit alone in the silence, and wait quietly, for there may yet be hope.

This week I made the scary plunge into an epicenter of young, evangelical Christianity. I have been battling my will every step of the way. I have been challenging the typical statements of blessing. I have been longing to throw the whole thing out because of my heartache. My response is to write off the super-spiritual and the supernatural, because of my fear–the fear of hoping too deeply, of loving with abandon, of ending up broken.

But God is doing a gentle work in my soul; His love and truth do a sweet work on my soul. Like Windex on a dirty glass, the streaks are wiped clean for a moment, and I am reminded that this may be only a reflection, but that does not have to mean a critical and fear-filled journey.

Broken can lead to bitter, or it can lead to a heart forced open, a heart expanded to embrace and receive.

I am fighting my will, which analyzes instead of rests, doubts instead of accepts. I am choosing to search again for the truth of faith, hope, and love. Now I know only in part, but my faith yet hopes for the time when I, when all of us, finally know in full.


Image credit: bealla