I've been pondering the idea of withness. It's not in the dictionary, but I don't care. It's more of a feeling, anyway, than wordy words. When I use it, I mean an integrated state of being with God. Noticing that He is with me. Waiting with God. Breathing with God. Withness. A deep inhale, a full exhale, a remembering that He is mine and I am His.
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." John 1:1 is full of withness. And the Light that is the Word, that was with God and that was God, has come into the world. Emmanuel, God with us, has walked among us. Has given us the gift of unity with the Holy Spirit. Unity is as much "with" as we can hope for in our human lives, I think.
In the season of Advent, we wait, perhaps thinking of Mary as she waited and wondered and travelled at the worst possible time. There was much she was waiting for. So often we, too, are waiting for God: for an answer, for a change, for His presence. But Mary also had the gift of withness, in very deep ways: in her actual body, in her deepest soul. The loving kindness of the Father makes me doubt that not at all.
I wonder...
As we pause in this time of anticipation, does the idea of waiting with God expand your space to hold hope, joy, peace and love? If He is undergirding your holding with His own hands, could you imagine melting into that? Would withness make the journey between the bullet points more to be treasured and less hurry-up-and-get-there?
The presence of God is the thing, friends. Without it, everything is too hard. With it, all is well. And the withness of God is His gift to us; His offering and so His work. Consider that you may cease striving to find it and simply allow Him to fulfill His promise. Emmanuel. God with us.
Artist Credit: Virgin Mary Consoles Eve Sr. Grace Remington, OCSO, 2005