Bigger Picture Moment: On Earrings and Prayer

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Hills and valleys, that's how it is with my faith.  My interaction, my prayers, my belief, they all come in hills and valleys.  As with anything else, I suppose; moods and creativity and energy and patience and willpower, they all ebb and flow, right?

And right now, there's a particular lull in prayer.  I don't usually talk too much about my own faith here -- it's mine to protect and to be awed by and to share or not share, I think -- but this feels okay.  So I can tell you, in this okay place, that I can't seem to find the groove I've had before.  The praying groove.  I miss it, but there are distractions, so I don't know that I miss it. 

It's like a soft, hollow spot in my chest that's so quiet and unobtrusive as to pull me in around it until it's full of something else.  That hollow spot gets filled, whether I fill it with prayer or not.  I wonder what I'm filling it with?

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Justin gave me a tiny pair of diamond earrings on our wedding day.  Sweet, clear studs hugged by a thin glimmer of gold.  Delicate and stable at the same time.  Like love, probably.  I almost never took the earrings out.  I wore them without ceasing, through seasons and occasions, keeping my ears quiet and hidden, because who would draw attention to these ears if they could help it?

In a fit of fashion-forwardness (which may as well be fashion-sidewaysness for all I know of style) after cutting my hair in a short almost-pixie 'do, I'd removed my small, hidden studs and replaced them with danglers.  Baubles to take away some of the nakedness from around my neck.  Decorations instead of silence. 

And oh, I loved the danglers.  They moved against my neck and tugged on my lobes and made me feel pretty.  I wasn't entirely convinced that the pixie haircut had been a good choice, but with the addition of show-stealing earrings, my confidence was boosted. 

But wouldn't you know it: my hair grew back.  Surprise.  My ears retreated behind curtains of brown, resting again in the quiet of darkness. 

I put away the dangly earrings. 

I forgot to replace my tiny studs.  They began to collect dust on top of my jewelry box.

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Earlier this week, I woke up with an urge.  Whether I'd seen something pretty on a stranger or merely remembered the weight of them, I woke up wanting earrings.  My earlobes were bare, boring, blank.  It had been a long time (not long exactly, but longer than ever before) since I'd worn them, and I suddenly missed them.  And not even the reassuring plug of the diamond studs -- I wanted baubles.  I wanted pretty, shiny things to peek from behind my short curtains of hair, to add lustre to my daily dullness. 

I found my favorite pair of droopy earrings and stood in front of the mirror.  Not looking -- it's simple to place an earring in a hole, after all (But why do we stand in front of mirrors for things we feel require no vision?  Habit?) -- I felt around for the wire loop's foothold in my ear.  I prodded my earlobe, searching for the path.  Not finding it.  Squinting at my reflection, I pulled and tugged and pushed and squeaked.  Pulling and tugging and pushing to make it through, and squeaking when I met painful resistance. 

My pierced ear had begun to heal. 

I had a moment of confusion.  It'd only been, what, a month?  Can a hole be sealed up in such a short amount of time?  And more to the point, should I push through to the other side?  Should I force the earring? 

Self-preservation said no.  The pain of re-piercing my own ears with nothing but a pointed wire would be more than I could bear, surely. 

Stubbornness said yes.  If my skin was starting to grow over, it wouldn't be much trouble to just push through now, rather than wait until it was truly impenetrable. 

Stubbornness won out.  I dug the wire into the small dimple of my lobe, searching for the path of least resistance.  Tears sprang to my eyes.  I worried and stopped and re-started.  Finally, the earring passed to the other side.  No skin had been broken, no wound had been forced, but a blocked path had been scooted aside to make way for the metal wire.   I wore the dangly earring in one ear -- it sat swinging joyfully despite my ordeal -- hoping the second side would be less trouble.  But if it wasn't as troubling, it was only because I knew it was possible to push through. 

That night, sick of the ache and itch from my hard-won earrings -- maybe the cheap metal was irritating my tender wound -- I carefully removed them and massaged my earlobes in relief. 

I couldn't have slept in those prickly, tugging earrings, but I knew what I could sleep in: my tiny diamonds. 

They slid in without restraint.  Their presence was accompanied by no ache or irritation.  My ears were comfortable in their piercedness once more. 

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This morning, I woke up with a different urge.  From nowhere (from Somewhere?) I was overcome with the need to pray.  To talk and seek and fret and wonder. 

The prayers slid in without restraint.  Like they'd been made to fit in the hole in my chest, like they'd kindly push aside whatever else -- something shiny?  something inane? -- that had been holding their place. 

I am comfortable in my piercedness once more.  Taking that step to open the path is all it took.  All it takes.  All it will ever take.

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