In the Space Between

In the space between emotional highs and emotional lows, that is where you discover the Lord’s will. For the highs may sweep you away, like a torrent over a cliff, and the lows may suffocate you, like too much dust. Cling to the peace that is born in the space between, the peace that remains hidden even within the highs and the lows. There, a soul finds its footing. Even should the rock be beset by a storm, you will not drown. Even should the rock be shaken, it will not crumble beneath your feet. For the Lord is greater than high waves and low rumblings.

In the space between, I know I am loved and I know I must love. For that is His will. My good is His good, and love is the Great Good.

Rainbow Valley

The children led me deep into the faerie kingdom of Prince Edward Island. Rainbow Valley, they call it. Beyond the crumbling cement slabs of the Broken Portal, following the creek that divides the slopes where cattle graze in summer, into the woods. We ducked beneath trees that bow toward the water that nourishes them, sometimes stepping into the gentle current, disturbing the minnows that splish-splash and a moment later vanish. Our young knight-in-shining-armor crouched in his rubber boots and prodded the aquatic flora, but the minnows are as nimble (and as shy) as the faeries.

Insects—or perhaps newborn faeries—rose and fell in the amber light bubbling through the branches. A stump woolly with moss beckoned the valley’s king to sit enthroned upon it, but he remained hidden as we passed by, perhaps watching us from a perch high in an evergreen. Ferns stroked our legs, webs clung to our hair—his watchmen, commissioned to pronounce us as friend or foe. We did thrust a stick into the pool to fathom its depth, as well as leave our prints in the mud, but Rainbow Valley is as beloved to these children as to the little folk. I am certain the king knows this, for the children have entered these sacred spaces before and have yet to be ambushed by thorn-arrows or acorn-cannons. I myself fell deeper and deeper into its enchantment the farther we journeyed.

Soaking in beauty is akin to praying for me. Among sleepy trees and chuckling water, truth and goodness come alive. Perhaps every person is drawn especially to truth, goodness, or beauty—and the one is a gateway to understanding the other two better. Indeed, in the beauty of Rainbow Valley, the truth that God is good becomes vibrantly obvious to me. Truth and goodness are not dependent upon beauty (I believe the truth that God is good even when I am walled up, far from the hills and woods), but wherever there is beauty, the other two always follow. They are a trinity, inseparable, but entities unto themselves. The Father and the Son do not need the Holy Spirit to exist, but by their love, the Holy Spirit naturally follows. One could say He is their love. And thus the three are inseparable, even as they are unique.

I connect especially with the Father (strong arms around me and His heart beating in time with mine), and He leads me to better understand the Holy Spirit (a lover’s whisper in my ear) and the Son (my companion along the lonely road). Like so, I connect especially with beauty. You may tell me that God is Love (truth), or show me that God is Love by your actions (goodness)—but I am struck by this most when I am sitting by the sea, or strolling through a meadow, or galloping on a horse. Beauty. Ruby-red apples dangling from a wild tree, a hollow in the creek’s bank, squirrels rustling in leaves—these are love-notes from Him to I.

And Rainbow Valley is overflowing with them.