Day 8: Mystery

Editor’s note: On this eighth day of our Advent blog series “His Light Would Not Go Out,” DC Service Corps alum Bekah Galucki finds a glimpse into the mystery of the Incarnation, when God became human, by rereading her prayer journal.

The Trinity. Holiness. Faith. People.

All of these (and many, many more) came to mind when called to reflect on “mystery,” admittedly with a few degrees of separation. What did this have to do with little me? It’s a mystery, so how can I explain that? What is there to say that hasn’t already been said? When I get overwhelmed (or, contrastingly, underwhelmed), I often consult my prayer journal, and this case was no different. It is here that I intentionally dwell with the God of all truth, beauty, and goodness, for any and all circumstances of the heart. 

This Advent I have only seldom gotten to delve into journaling throughout the busyness. As I opened my journal, fully ready to unleash my frustrations about mystery on the page, God revealed the answer to my many questions – one that I’d had all along. I looked at the wide open book before me with my two most recent prayer writings and there it was: both/and.

My drawn reflection on the left page revealed a very distinct, dreary, and worn version of myself. I’d written it right after a brief run in with a colleague with my frustrations running high. They had told me that I looked tired, which was not appreciated in the slightest. Despite what I’d like to believe was well-intentioned, the impact was surely misplaced. All amped up, I’d depicted this exhausted version of myself with the speech bubble, “Please don’t tell me I look tired. I know and I don’t need you to tell me.” I marched my burnt-out self over to the church across the street to intentionally sit down, rest & simply be with God. And in turn, God was delighted in me, even when I was far from delightful.

On the right page was an alternatively distinct, grateful and abundant version of myself. I had been on a work trip that continued to exceed my expectations, and I was met with all sorts of contemplative gratitude. I could overlook the ocean and allow these beautiful words by Ranier Maria Rilke to wash over me: “You are the deep innerness of all things, the last word that can never be spoken.” I took all of these overwhelming feelings of belovedness to God to intentionally sit down, rest, and simply be with God. And in turn, God delighted in my delights.

If you can believe it, these were just days apart. Both of these versions of myself and every one in between, all parts of me coexist. I am mountain top, valley low and every single step between. I am innumerable both/ands. Grumbling and joyful. Busy and still. Complacent and contemplative. The mystery of all my humanity. God sees, knows & loves all my humanness still. 

It is so humbling that God intentionally chose to become human, actively choosing this messiness for love of us. Physically human – born of flesh, blood, and bone. Mentally human – growing and tending to a brain through all the stages of human development. Emotionally human – experiencing the fullness of life through the fullness of emotions that accompany. As a highly sensitive person, this last one gets me the most. I rest in this mystery that God sees, knows, and loves all of me in ways that exceed my own understanding.

Throughout the many phases and faces of myself, I am never unmet by God’s mysterious Love. Rilke continues to explain the mystery of the Maker of the stars: “You create yourself in ever-changing shapes that rise from the stuff of our days — unsung, unmourned, undescribed…”

May we continue to treasure our days and all that bring life into them, knowing God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are with us — both/and.

Question for reflection: What seemingly opposite parts of you make up the mystery of your humanity? What parts of you do you need to remember that God sees and loves?