When I was a child, I used to sit on the sidewalk in the middle of suburbia and dig for treasure. In front of my five year old body, sat a big, jagged-edged boulder. It was a special rock, because it had little pockets covering it, little caves, and in these caves were jewel-like stones. I would sit for hours and dig out these sparkled gems. My knuckles would have little red lines across them, from scraping  and digging with a dead branch from the weeping willow tree out back. I loved that stone. I dug and dug and dug. And the little pile of jewels next to my leg would grow. And so would the smile on my face.

When I worked as a hospital chaplain, my very candid supervisor said to me, "Jenny, wherever you see a pile of shit, you're lookin' for the pony." It's true. I love digging for treasure. And my knuckles and my heart would tell you, sometimes digging for treasure hurts. It's buried, sometimes very deep.  A friend recently said to me, "Jenny, I am learning how to suffer." How beautiful. Can I trust that God cares for me, particularly when I suffer? Can I trust that being myself, all of me, is enough in this lifetime? Part of why I dig for treasure is because I have faith that there is meaning in it. And another reason that I will dig into a boulder for hours to recover a gem, is because I am afraid of the dark, and even more so, the ordinary. Through my lens, a boulder can turn into a treasure chest, a pile of shit, into a graceful, flowing-maned white pony. William Blake said, "Excess of Joy weeps, Excess of sorrow laughs." Joy becomes all encompassing when we are willing to experience suffering. Why I do what I do with God? Sometimes I use God to feel better about myself. I just want to rest in God. Not as one more thing to check off my list, but because my body and soul long to be at home every once and a while. Maybe I don't have to dig so hard. Maybe I don't have to reach so high. These feet of mine have had a hard time staying on the ground most of my life.

My insecurity has been getting the best of me lately. I am losing faith in myself today. Sometimes, I have no idea what I am doing. Like I am walking around in circles with no compass. It scares me. I have hidden my insecurity for so long, that it surprises me when it sneaks up and takes hold. When I am uncertain, or afraid, I start looking for the pony. But, how do I look for the pony, when I can't even find the pile of dung? I am that lost some days. I have been reading the stories in Genesis lately. In one of them, Jacob wrestles with God. And he wrestles until daybreak. As he wrestles, he says to God, I will not leave until you bless me. I will do this all day if I have to. And what does God do? God blesses Jacob, even gives him a new name. Israel, Jacob transformed, he who wrestles with God. But, as one scripture scholar recently pointed out in an interview I watched (Genesis: The Living Conversation with Bill Moyers, PBS), Jacob's hip is hurt. And after his encounter with God, he limps away. But wait a minute. His encounter with God transformed him. You would think, being transformed by God that he should be flying, feet off the ground, with angel wings? But no, he is limping away. With a new name. My new name would be, one who hopes for wings. I don't want to limp when I walk away from a moment with God, I want to fly. If you would ask me why, I would tell you, because I want to be enough.

I am too hard on myself. I expect myself to be something I am not. And I jump to the silver lining too quickly sometimes, because I don't want to feel pain and I want to look good. I try to make meaning out of some things to quickly. When I learn how to suffer, how to enter the darkness with great care, the treasure rises, with very little digging on my part. The pony finds me, and funny thing, rather than angel wings, I find myself knee deep in the dung of life. Dung made our garden grow last summer and it nourished the spinach that I ate in my omelette last week. When God works in my life, I have expected to grow angel wings. The more enlightened I am (God help me), the higher above the ground I rise. I need my feet on the ground to know God. I have been too high up, reaching for the heavens with no roots. And as Nietzsche has said, "One must send their roots to hell, to reach towards the heavens." Jacob said, I will stay here until daybreak if I have to. He had the time. He created the space for this wrestling match with God. And God did the rest. That's the tough part. Transformation looks nothing like I have imagined it. I don't know what it looks like. But, wandering around in circles, feet first, with no compass is what it looks like right now.