Dust

Coming into the local coffee shop, opening up my laptop, usually the first thing I notice is it's covered with dust. It doesn't seem dirty in my place. Something about the lighting, the atmosphere of a new place, provides the right illumination for me to see how dirty it really is.

Experiencing this the other day, right away I related it to my interaction with people. I can be going through the entire day, week, month, doing my best to not be seen. Then, at the right time, that person chooses to bring the right amount of light to step into my world, inevitably naming the things I don't want to name myself.

The person I experience this exposure with the most; my counselor (he does his job well, not always a fun thing...) The image I have is back in elementary school where we'd make the little volcanos erupt. The drop of baking soda into the mixture ignites the reaction. And I feel like I can't step into that office and sit on that couch without there being some inevitable reaction.

It is really more what he doesn't do than what he does. Usually I am doing everything I can to keep from being the one that casts that light, never wanting to create that awkward confrontation. He is there, speaking into what he sees and feels, not hiding, not blaming, just there. So often I feel like I have to be doing so much, but I see more how it's what I let myself not do that is needed - if I want to expose or be exposed - if I want to cast that light. A big if. It cuts, but the cut somehow brings life. And that is a blessed wounding. Blessed are the wounds of a friend.