Pain's Question

Lava Scars

Photo by Bgrace

As I was looking through our photos of Mount Saint Helens, I remember my sense of wonder at the irony of the volcanic site.  There's something about the pain of the land that makes it's beauty more striking.  The scars carved by lava along the mountainside.  The flora that has grown up out of the ashes surrounding the trees that were blown apart in the blast.  Their bright colors sing redemption to the overwhelming shades of gray. 
I was reading Henri Nouwen (The Dance of Life) the other day and came upon these words.
Our questions, "Do you love me?" and "Do I have to die?" are deeply connected. 
How very insightful.  Helen is a poignant representation of that question, and there is wisdom to be gleaned from both her pain and her beauty.  
Today as I was reading through writings of various authors I felt pain rising to the surface of my spirit, and it was so overwhelming I couldn't push my way through it.  I didn't quite know where it was coming from so I decided to sit with it for a while.  Nouwen's words came back to me and the thought that formed was this.
"What question is my pain asking?"
How often I look to God to heal my wound without ever identifying the question my pain is asking. 
As I thought, my pain formed itself into words.
"How much of me is still confused?"
Something else Nouwen said came back to me.  In referring to his near death experience he said this,
"As I live my life in the years ahead of me, the question will be with me always, and I will never be allowed to let that question go completely." 
I remember being struck by his willingness to live in the question and learn from the question rather than simply looking for an answer. 
Am I willing to walk in the question? 
Am I willing to stay in the confusion?
The truth is, I shy away from confusion because exposes my vulnerability.  But it is only in vulnerability, in humility, in understanding that I don't fully understand, that I am teachable.
As I look at Helen's scars, I can see that she knows more about the question of pain than most mountains.  I can see that her scars speak of wounds most mountains never experience.  I can see that the flowers that can only grow from ashes are uniquely beautiful. And they stand out all the more against the gray.
I realize that the questions she asks are filled with wisdom no answers could ever supply.   

Me on a tree blown apart by a volcanoe.

Photo by Matt