Me and Emily

Me and Emily
(…and nearly everybody)

Emily Dickinson suffered from shyness so acute that she rarely received visitors. She was tiny, quiet, demure, almost mousey. She rarely left the house she was born in (and died in). And she wrote poetry that speaks the language of the human heart.

As others have “cracked” their Bibles to find random wisdom, I haphazardly flipped to these three poems. Together they describe my spiritual state for the past few years, maybe even forever. Maybe my discovering them wasn’t haphazard.

Taken in concert with the other two poems, this one illuminates the conflicting yin and yang of seeking relationship with God. Maybe it’s a little darker than necessary, but Dickinson’s words capture an important element of the struggle to stay connected to the Vine.

He was weak, and I was strong—then—
So He let me lead him in—
I was weak, and He was strong then—
So I let him lead me—Home.

‘Twasn’t far—the door was near—
‘Twasn’t dark—for He went—too—
‘Twasn’t loud, for He said nought—
That was all I cared to know.

Day knocked—and we must part—
Neither—was strongest—now—
He strove—and I strove—too—
We didn’t do it—tho’!
(1860)

This next poem clearly depicts the frustration of trying too hard; the weary,
exhaustive, draining search for Living Water. Maybe this is how the woman
at the well felt. Or maybe it describes how Jesus feels. Could the
frustration be on both sides of the Well?

To One denied to drink
To tell what Water is
Would be acuter, would it not
Than letting Him surmise?

To lead Him to the Well
And let Him hear it drip
Remind Him, would it not, somewhat
Of His condemned lip?
(1862)

And finally, optimism! Barbed, to be sure, but still, a glimmer of hope.

I shall know why—when Time is over—
And I have ceased to wonder why—
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky—

He will tell me what “Peter” promised—
And I—for wonder at his woe—
I shall forget the drop of Anguish
That scalds me now—that scalds me now!
(1860)