40 Ways My Labyrinth is Like My Life--#18

18. Sometimes there are a lot of turns in a row, and sometimes straight(ish) stretches.

There are areas in a five-circuit labyrinth such as mine where you only go a short way before turning back in a U-turn, then another short way and another U-turn, and so on. It's enough to make you dizzy. During this process, you can sometimes see the center growing closer, sometimes see it moving farther away, and sometimes, frustratingly, you are moving along right beside it, but unable to enter it yet.

In my life, it has often seemed that I've just settled into a certain place, or a certain job, or a certain way of being, when suddenly everything changes. When my husband was in his last illness I belonged to a support group for family members and caregivers of people with memory loss issues of whatever kind. One of the things we talked about frequently was that the hardest thing is losing the person you knew and loved, and who loved you, before you really lose the person. "You just have to try to let go of and mourn the one who was and learn to accept and love the one who is," we encouraged each other.

That was hard enough, but just as soon as you felt you'd "done that" to some extent and were reasonably comfortable accepting this new manifestation of your loved one, it changed again! You had to mourn that one and learn to accept another new one. It was exhausting!

And then, surprisingly, there were blessed moments when, just for a second, your heart sang, "There he is! He spoke to me; he smiled at me; he knew me!"

And then it was gone. Your heart ached with a fiercer pain for a while.

In the labyrinth--and I've noticed these are mostly near the end--there are longer stretches where you move along in the same direction. The last one goes halfway around the entire outside circle, from the north side to the south, then makes one final right turn and carries you straight to the quiet center you have been seeking for so long.

Les' life has made that last, right turn. I'm still blundering along, trying to trust that every turn is either necessary or, if it was not originally part of the master plan but perhaps a silly choice of my own or someone else's, then God can still weave it into the journey.

I try to rejoice in the variety when there are a lot of turns, and rejoice in the continuity when I go the same way for a while. I know my Lord both waits at the center and walks with me, every step.