Standing in the Hallway
Photo Credit: Andrea Lingle
By Meg McBride
In my first few years of sobriety, as I was rebuilding my life and it felt like every door was closed to me, my AA sponsor would encourage me to stand in the dark hallway and wait for God to open another door. To lighten the mood and heaviness of my anxiety, I would playfully mimic a child having a temper tantrum as I clenched my fists, stomped my feet and whined, “But I don’t wanna stand in the hallway anymore!” Today, at almost nineteen years sober, dark hallways are still familiar spaces to me.
I recently found myself standing outside a closed door which felt like it had been slammed on my face. Baffled, heartbroken and gut-wrenched, I tried to make sense of how I (we) had gotten to this place. After all, look at what we had created! See all the people that had been helped! Read all the data that proves we produced good fruit! I’ve learned that standing in the hallway invites and allows a different perspective to emerge. My therapist has promised me that the hallway can and will “deliver” you.
When you are standing in the dark you have to trust your senses. When your blind eyes can only see black and your hands are grasping for a foothold, you have to stop, pause and listen so that you don’t stub your toe on the dresser or trip over the dog and break your arm. The darkness of misunderstanding, confusion, tears, and grieving can actually be a cushion to catch your falling soul. Sit down for a spell.
In the clarity of darkness you somehow begin to hear your own voice as you start to identify that you have choices. You slowly begin to make out the fences of your boundaries as you get an inkling that you’ve been sacrificing precious parts of yourself out the open window of the room you’ve been living in. Then, I promise you—you’ll get mad. Really mad. Anger lets me know that I’ve abandoned myself and it’s time to come home. The walk home can be cold, wet, and long.
The thing you discover about the hallway is that there are friends there: Old and New friends who are willing to open their doors and shine light into your life by telling you who you are. They are people who believe and hold sacred those things about you that you seem to have lost sight of knowing. Some of these friends are more subtle, and, while you are whistling in the dark, you feel a quiet and gentle hand slowly and softly taking your own hand with the whisper of assuring words, “It’s OK, I am standing beside you.” Then there are crazy friends who fling their doors wide open with a guitar in hand to entertain your hurting heart with humor and song.
The hallway is full of mystery and opportunity and God is at work even when we don’t see it or believe it. Like Jonah in the belly of the whale, we have no idea what’s happening on the surface or even in the deeper depths of the waters. We can try to run to Tarshish, but real life is happening in Nineveh—the journey takes the time it takes and it takes weeping and it takes perseverance…along with a lot of God’s nudging. When we finally get up on the mountain top and get some perspective, we can continue to resent the journey of the dark hallway.
In the story of Jonah, my alternative ending is that Jonah sat up on that mountain for so long, stewing in his anger that he turned to stone. As the years wore on, he began to crumble. First a few fingers and the nose disintegrated off, and, eventually, the whipping wind began to carry away the defining facial features that made him recognizable. In time the statue was just a rock…and then a stone, a pebble, dust. As we stand in the hallway we have to keep breathing deeply and living into the unknown or else we risk disappearing into oblivion.
Waiting impatiently and uncomfortably, we eventually spot a crack of dawning light up ahead. Slowly, cautiously we move forward taking one step at a time. Approaching the light, we reluctantly push on the door that sits ajar as we try to take a peek inside—we’re so afraid of hurting again so we hesitate. Our bellies summersault as our guts turn to mush and yet we can’t deny that hope and grace is getting the better of us and we have to try. Deep breath…square up the shoulders…show them pearly whites…as you begin to push open the door, it suddenly opens wide. Standing there with welcome, gladness, and utter joy is Trinity. “You ready to go again?” she laughs. You feel that child-like tantrum surge because the hallway was terrible and you just want to unload. But in her beautiful and radiant peace, you remember who you are: beautiful, unique and Hers…you sigh...and then you laugh too, step inside and close the door gently. Here we go again.