New light.

This phrase woke me from my sleep and continued rolling around in my mind and spirit as the days went on.

New light? What does this mean?

Days later, I dreamt of a familiar faces who greeted while the sun rose, bright bubblegum pinks and vivid violet, in the background. The light offered a sense of joy and hope. As if it invaded their grins, and therefore the whole experience.

What does new light mean, I’ve continued to ask God?

And today, a hint surfaced.

You see, for months I’ve been processing a tension; after years of embracing contemplation through listening and prayer, I’m also desiring holy action. As much as I value sitting on the couch in deep reflection with God, can there also be creative doors He swings open? Being and doing that comes from Him alone?

A gentle question comes.

Why does it have to be either/or? One or the other?

What if this whole time I’ve been misidentifying intimacy as mainly contemplation, when it’s so many more lights and colors than just sitting on the couch with God?

What if intimacy with the trinity is drenched in hues and shades indescribable and unique to each of us?

Intimacy can be sitting, legs crossed, talking, listening, praying with God.

Intimacy can also be running a marathon, writing a song, designing a space.

Knowing and receiving His love in our bones – isn’t this the joy of intimacy?

Some may experience God’s intimacy in a crowd.
Others, alone.

Meadowy fields.
In traffic.
Stirring chicken tortilla soup.
Nursing a child back from a fever.

Connecting with the Divine wherever we are. This is intimacy.

Intimacy while we make love, fold laundry, brainstorm work projects.

Intimacy is the trusting, filling up that overflows into holy action. The more we release what intimacy ought to look like, the more free we are to simply enjoy connection with our creator.

Intimacy in a whole new light.

Where blacks merge with blush, soft grays with mustards, swirling and shining. Mute and glittering. A balance of and; not either/or.

I consider how God personally scatters intimacy invitations through physical hearts. They appear all throughout the day. Every day. It’s becoming so obvious I can no longer ignore His longing to connect. It’s like, hello, here’s another heart for you. And here. What about up there in the clouds? And in that dog poop you’re picking up right.about.now?

Rustic red tomato soup splatters.
Metal gray concrete divots.
Tiny emerald wildflower leaves.
Giant lemony pee on the carpet. Compliments of Mercy.

All in the shape of hearts.

All of them shining toward intimacy. A love beacon on repeat.
Gentle. Surprising.

Love love love. I love you.

And here I’d been putting His intimacy in a Contemplation Only box. It may be a color, but not the only color. A light, but not the only light. Contemplation. And action. And whimsy. And waiting. He extends a familiar hand and meets us wherever we are.

Intimacy means closeness or familiarity. If we take this into our intimacy with God, don’t we then experience closeness with Him sitting, standing, soaking, and swinging? In all seasons? Sunrises and sunsets? Every shade and hue? Every light on the color spectrum of life?

This thought leads me down the wonder trail. If I was misinterpreting intimacy solely through prayer and mediation, where else have I neglected to see his invitational intimacy lights in marriage? Church? Friendship? With myself?

How is He offering closeness while I bake with our boys, communally worship, design a reading nook with my hubby, let myself get lost in creating wildflower prayers while I hover over my vintage typewriter and flower press?

Intimacy with God isn’t supposed to be boring, yet because I was categorizing His love offerings as heavy couch contemplation, I’d subconsciously started resenting, hating, abhorring the stillness and quiet. God, don’t you want me to use all these creative passions you filled me with?

I’ve grown so resentful, I’ve missed his knocking.

Knocking to offer love. To give love. To match the passionate cadence of how He designed me to live.

I love you through this creamy white bubble bath heart.
This clay brown mud clump on the driveway.
Splat. This raindrop on your windshield in the shape of … you guessed it: a heart.

Whether it’s quiet or loud, dark or bright. Slow or full-paced, I’m looking for intimacy in a new light.

New light.
New lights.

New angles shining in the mundane miracles of today.
Like discovering a diamond drenched in sunrise, sunset, and every facet in-between.