Clinging

Ever since my first experience rock climbing outdoors, the word cling conjures up an image of white-knuckled fingertips tensed on a thin rock ledge. And this image has become a metaphor for my spiritual clinging. I think of holding on to the solidness, the trustworthiness of God with the last bit of energy that I have. As spiritual metaphors go, it isn't terrible--although Jesus is on belay* is an important corollary.

Lately, my son has been teaching me a new image to go with cling. My son is a Cling-on**. He's a sweet, enthusiastic hugger, and when he's distressed he pastes himself to my shoulder.

As I've been processing my current pain, I've been thinking about this image of clinging. Two things come to mind: First, that my son's immediate reaction to pain is to look for me. Even though I can't do a thing about the pain receptors firing away in his brain, even though I can't make his blood clot, he wants to snuggle up on me. Second, as his mother, I am so pleased that he turns to me. I am so happy to have him rest on my shoulder. I can't fix anything, but I can be near.

This new image encourages me to focus less on how much energy I do or don't have to cling or when my energy is going to run out and I'm going to fall off the rock. Instead, I imagine that God is equally and more pleased that I would tuck up on his lap. I have very few answers, very little understanding of what is going on in my wreck of an emotional world. But the solid presence of God as my refuge is a beacon of hope in this period of darkness.

*The person on belay is the person holding the rope and catches you when you fall.

**That's a bad Star Trek pun. Klingons are an alien race in the Star Trek world.