Thin.
I am a thin person. Not literally of course. The temptation of bread and tortilla chips overcomes me too often for me to be truly thin. This is a very figurative thin.
I love my life but often it stretches me to the end of myself, to a place where I’m not quite sure how I’m even being held together. But I am held.
The Celtic tradition had saying to describe a place where heaven and earth meet. These are the place where the greatness of the beyond so impact the ordinary that you can just start to taste it. The veil between heaven and earth is stretched thin. We are lucky to find these places.
If there was a place where heaven met earth, it would be the islands of Hawaii. On one side, I have the majestic mountains with all the lush life they have to offer. Yet, I can open my window and hear the crashing of the waves as it break on the shore. A short walk and I am there, watching the waves crash against the rocks and pull the ocean back to itself. This is my place.
Despite the closeness of my sacred space, this life, this place, has stretched me thin. I used to see my beach as the thin place but I’m beginning to think my life is thin. The veil has been lifted from my eyes and in the depth of sorrow, I see that it is meaningful. I am stretch to there end of myself and it is here that I am held together by God’s hands in such a way that when I close my eyes, I can almost feel them cradling me.
This is a place for thin people, people who are stretched to the end of themselves and have only to offer up their brokenness. This is a place to taste the goodness of God.