The Space In-Between and Learning to Hear God

Liminal space is one of those stupid $50 seminary words that I have an involuntary response to: the Puertorriqueña eyeroll happens - I promise - without my control. Throw in mileu or lectio divina and I won’t be able to recover. I have some sort of allergic reaction to methodism speak and it’s counterpart Duke/seminary speak and liminal space is like the favored feta cheese atop both of those Greek salads. (That would be funnier if Methodists or Dukies cared about Greek).

Yet. Here I stand. In liminal space.

Pioneers ended two months ago to the date. We had our last service, turned in our key, and in most ways, have not looked back. I haven’t returned my landlord’s text about picking up mail and try-as-I-might I also haven’t mustered up the energy to spend time with my gaggle of Durham friends. Most of my friends called me ‘pastor’ up until two months ago, and I haven’t figured out how to casually hang out without the ‘remember when we all planted a church together and you led it’ vibe hanging overhead.

My precious friend who will remain nameless - the first friend I made in 2017 when I landed at Duke Divinity School - is an introvert and if I don’t wave for a few months she often hums along none-the-wiser. She’s an academic (the best kind - the kind that makes the world better) and is like the human version of an excellent cat. Not all cats are created equal (I hate most of them - not people, just cats - stop overreading my metaphor), but I would wager that every 25 cats or so you get a really amazing one. One who is still independent, but knows how to play, knows how to give you all the cuddles, and seems to carry wisdom in their very being. My friend is the good cat. Well, I haven’t seen her since I told her we were moving (we’ve both tried but…life). That’s how it’s been with all of my people here in Durham. My inner monologue goes like, ‘hey, want to hang out in these weird few weeks before I leave this city forever and potentially never look back? Still love you alot…”

I am typically ‘over-jobbed’. I literally always having something like 3 jobs going at one time. During all of seminary I ran a successful art business that helped put me through school and I interned at several different churches. Throw in the birth of my firstborn my last year of classes. I call it ‘high capacity’ but those who love and know me best call it ‘overcommitted’. During the full run of Pioneers, I ran the church and the business and cooked up 1.5 million other hustles and shenanigans to help us pay the bills. Throw in the birth of baby number 2 and let me tell you - I don’t remember a lot of it. So like - busy tends to be my norm (I’m sorry Practicing the Way - I am trying).

Back to liminal space.

Liminal space is when you are in the ‘in-between’ of one season ending and the next one beginning. Right now, that’s quite literal. I am not running a cafe/marketplace/events venue. I am not planting a church. I don’t have a congregation I’m looking after. I’m not really spending time with those here I love most. In T-minus 30 days I will be in a new state, in a new role, in a new home, and in a completely different environment. I am - truly and fully overjoyed at what’s coming - but it’s not here yet and there’s so much to process from the end of our seven years in North Carolina. So here I am…in the in-between.

Moses was a liminal space guy. In fact, he set up camp in liminal space, quite literally, it was in Midian (see what I did there..Middle-an). He got married in Midiean. He learned to be a Jew there. He most likely started following God there. In liminal space (can we just drop this stupid phrase and call it ‘in-betweeny’?), the space between ‘Moses, Son of Pharoah’ and ‘Moses, Deliverer of Israel’ is where Moses learned to talk to God. Correction: It’s where Moses learned to talk honestly to God:

God: I hear my people’s cry. Go deliver them.

Moses: Uh, I am not Pharoah’s favorite ex-son. Pass?

God: I got you. Go.

Moses: I am barely a Jew. Seriously. I grew up worshipping all of Pharoah’s gods. Like, when I say, “God sent me”, everyone (Pharoah and all of those Jews) are going to be like, “which God”. Pass?

God: Say ‘God’ sent you. As in: The God. The Big Cahoona.

…

This goes on for a while. (PS: do you like my translation? For the low, low price of the-rest-of-your-life-in-debt you, too, can earn a Master of Divinity).

…

But, we know what happens. He does go. They are delivered. And, ‘Moses, Son of Pharoah’ becomes…not the part of his story we remember. Solid rearview.

So, liminal space. I mean, in-betweeny space. The hinge space. Transition. Onward and upward. Better things to come. Arms of an Angel (just kidding).

These days I’m writing, drawing, and drinking cold brew coffee slowly. I started reading fiction like a girl who has time on her hands. I bought fabric to make my 4-year-old daughter tiny, adorable dollies for her dollhouse. I’ve got time, people. I’m definitely in that scene where Moses is dancing out in the wilderness with his super hot wife (honestly yes, more of my Exodus theology has been formed by Prince of Egypt than by Dr. Champan’s OT101). In this place, in this in-between, things might slow down long enough to hear God.

Don’t curse the space in-between. It might become the most precious chapter before the story continues.