The Blue Hours

God loves to talk to me is when my room is blue.

At twilight, or just before dawn, the bluish light reflecting off the snow fills my room with an ethereal hue, and he wraps me closer than the blankets, closer than a breath…

It’s when I’m most vulnerable. Cocooned and succumbing to the warmth and exhaustion, my mind disarms and my heart unfolds long enough to welcome him before falling asleep together.

Hello, he answers, in a tone like he’s smiling. Like there’s no place he’d rather be.

Stay with me.

I’m here.

I love you, you know.

I know. I love you. 

The blue hours have become my most cherished, my most looked-forward-to conversation of living. These days, I get absorbed in the thoughts of my heart. I’m washing dishes, or brushing my teeth, or folding laundry and I start chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” my mom demands. “You’re always laughing to yourself!”

I shake my head, grinning.

The other night I lay awake in my blue room, listening to the fan whir while my heart whirred like the wings of a hummingbird flitting from this flower to that flower, lighting briefly on all the beautiful things growing inside me.

I had a thought that I can’t even remember now, what I call a Grace-thought because it is something that comes from the core of who I am. It’s something only I understand and wouldn’t be able to describe to anyone–even if I could remember it–because it’s ridiculous and quirky and has too much context. It’s the arrival thought after an hour of bunny-trail hopping.

Well, whatever it was, it made me laugh. At myself, at its inside-joke truth. At the fact that it was existing in me.

God, I thought suddenly, I really like my heart.

Now you know how I feel.

Stunned. That’s how I felt. You really like my heart? You truly enjoy what’s in there? You don’t just love it, but you like it? Nineteen years of believing my heart was inherently bad, of believing that God loved me but couldn’t stand me, of believing I should suppress my heart and all its….heart-ness was sucked into oblivion as my Father’s intimate admission made a home in my deepest places.

Now you know how I feel. Like, Finally you come around to it! I made your heart. I redeemed your heart. I’ve been changing your heart. It’s for you to take pleasure in, as much as I do.

So I wait for the blue hours. I treasure the blue hours.

In the blue hours, the heart of Maker and the heart of Maked smile and know.

Advertisements

One thought on “The Blue Hours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s