pockets and funnel cake

Finley has become enamored with pockets. The little girl who, one month ago refused to wear pants of any sort in favor of frilly dresses, LOVES jeans. She loves jeans because they have pockets. Beautiful, empty pockets. Spaces to put things, treasures, and most of all her cute little fists.

Of course, being two and wearing those bootcut jeans with the tiny, tight little pockets, she has a hard time manipulating her hand into the pocket. She will yell about it until I hold the pocket open and let her slide her sweet fingers in. Then she smiles so big you would think she found candy in there. But she didn’t. She just found an empty place to rest her hands.

Empty. Isn’t that the strange beckoning word I have been hearing for months now? When I have longed for more time, more days off, more love, more peace, more patience. I have heard a whisper from far away that said quietly, “Empty.”

Empty sounds so sad, doesn’t it? So bleak. So void. That wasn’t what I wanted! Not to be empty! I want to be full. Full of life. Full of ideas. Full of grace and patience. But still, I hear it calling out from inside me, “Empty.”

Empty like Christ, perhaps, who was so humble He, “emptied Himself, taking the form of a bondservant”? Empty like a tomb, whose stone has been rolled away to reveal that what was dead has been given new life and has risen up to the Father? Empty like the many jars of the widow in 2 Kings 4, that were filled miraculously from only one jar of oil?

Empty like that?

Empty like a funnel. What is a funnel, if not empty? Always empty. I don’t know who invented funnels, but the first one was a true stroke of genius. It’s hard to pour a lot of one thing into a smaller something else. Like Finley’s hand going in her pocket, it takes some help.

(Plus, if it weren’t for funnels, there would be no funnel cake, and therefore only deep fried twinkles and fried butter at the fair, and that would not be enough fat and sugar to warrant the trip.)

If I am to be empty like a funnel, then I will have a lot to empty out. Like my fears. No one wants that pouring out all over them. Also, there is my self-pity. You can’t funnel out love and feel sorry for yourself because it’s so much work to love everyone. Not gonna work! Of course, there is also my need. This is a broad category. My need to be comfortable. My need to feel loved and appreciated by the people around me. My need to know FOR SURE that everything is going to be okay; that I am going to be okay.

To learn to be a funnel I am going to have to learn to trust God can hold onto all my junk I shoved in my pockets up until now. I know it’s junk, but it all seemed like precious, needful things when I jammed it in my soul along the way in life. Nonetheless, with dramatic flourish! I toss it down. I throw it in the heavenly trash can and find that empty is GLORIOUS! Not bleak. Not void. It is beautiful. I hear singing from the far off voice, “Joy! Joy! Joy!”.

Then I realize, I opened up the pocket of my life and God found an empty place to rest His hands.

And suddenly I remember how I love empty. Empty kitchen counters: awesome. Empty journals ready for deep thoughts: provokingly thrilling. Empty schedule, ready for a day of fun: the best thing ever.

And all the love and all the patience and all the grace flows so much easier through me without all that stuff slowing it down. Like water rushes through an unplugged pipe. It is easier to teach a fussy kindergartener. It is a joy to make dinner for a neighbor. It is life-infusing to let my fantastic husband sleep in.

From now on, I hope I find myself empty every day. More spiritual funnel cake, more joyful music for my soul, more grace and love for everyone around me. Aaaah, empty….