Emptiness

There is something very poignant about empty things. They are so still and quiet. I haven’t always loved them.

When I was younger, I believed that empty things should be filled. Empty calendars were filled with plans. Empty days were filled with activities. Empty moments were filled with conversations or music or a barrage of thoughts. Emptiness was valued only in its potential to become full.

But empty things can be very beautiful. It is in their emptiness that the true artistry of their creation can be seen. The lovely curves of a vacant bench. The rich hues of an unused pot. The intricate craftsmanship of an early autumn bird’s nest. They are beautiful, standing there alone, just as they are.

My life has been in a season of emptying lately. Emptying household . . . my children no longer live at home. Emptying dreams . . . some things just haven’t panned out.

Seasons of emptying can come even in the midst of fullness. My life is wonderful. I have been married to my best friend for nearly 25 years. I have rich, deep friendships. My home is comfortable and warm. My church family is incredibly dear. Nonetheless, emptying has come.

There are many things that can tip the handle of our lives and begin the process of emptying. Grief. Disappointment. Failure. Fear. Exhaustion. Everyone goes through emptyings from time to time. I am beginning to think they are necessary. If you haven’t been through one yet, my blogging friends, you will. Emptying reveals what you were full of . . . for better or for worse. It proves your mettle. It can be a prelude to depression and despondency. Or it can be a cleansing.

There is a simple elegance in this new emptiness of mine. My faith has marched through all the mire and clutter of sorrow, pain, and questioning to find itself stronger. Unembellished. Deeper. It is like being emptied of everything but Him.

Alone, except for the enfolding warmth of His presence.
Silent, except for the quiet whispering of His Grace.
Still, except for the stirring of His Word in my soul.

In the same way that a beach is empty at tide’s lowest ebb, I expect the tide to turn and bring fullness again. Perhaps prodigals will come home. Perhaps grandchildren will be born. Clatter will probably fill my days again. I will see new plantings and new rain and new crops for my soul. Benches are meant to be occupied. Vessels are meant to be full. And birds’s nests, after the cold winds of winter, are meant to be rebuilt and filled with precious eggs.

I am learning to treasure this season of emptiness because I have hope. And I am learning to celebrate in it. Not just "bear it until it is over." Celebrate in it. Gloriously, wonderfully celebrate that the God who fills and blesses also loves an empty vessel like me.

I know the Hand that fills. It is a strong Hand. A gracious Hand. It steadies my empty vessel in its time of weakness. And this loving Hand will fill my vessel again. I wait to see what this filling will be.

I wait for the LORD, my soul does wait, And in His word do I hope.
Psalms 130:5 (NASB)

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, And do not return there without watering the earth And making it bear and sprout, And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;
So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth; It will not return to Me empty, Without accomplishing what I desire, And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”
Isaiah 55:8-11 (NASB)

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid