The Space Between

My actions and reactions scream it. 

I want

Black.

White.

Clarity.

This is right and good. That is not.

The gray is revolting, something my heart has refused to face. For so many years I’ve been unable, and consequently unwilling, to maneuver its hues that seem to only usher in confusion. Purging my life of this shade has become second nature masquerading under the guise of taking control or protecting myself.

Turning the unmanageable into that which is known is easier, it brings answers and allows lines in the sand.

It's hit me, just above the surface. 

What happens when strokes are blurred?

What am I missing by refusing to embrace the weightless mystery of the unknown and unexpected?

Can’t the One who makes calamity and well-being be found also in the space between?

What if the the real treasure, the meat of our days, is found in the waiting and letting go?

What if I start laying down expectations and perfection and performance and learned to thrive in the gray?