The Dark Places

"Where are you?" Mary Ann Beil demanded. "I've left messages at your house and at your work."

"I am in St. Martin," I answered.

"Oh good," she shot back. "I've spent the last seven days in the woods."

"Why would you do that?" Mary Ann doesn't strike anyone as a lumberjack.

"Studying Celtic Christianity. That's is why I'm calling you."

"I guess that explains you being in the woods," I said wondering what one has to do with the other. Several weeks ago, Mary Ann forced me to listen to several hours of Celtic Christian theology.

"Tell me what is going on," she suddenly demanded.

"Oh, I dunno," I stood in the bright sunshine beside the calm ocean trying to think of an answer. "My writing has been pretty dark lately."

"I knew it!" she replied with great enthusiasm. "That's good! Roots take hold in the dark places! Life begins in the dark places! Jesus was resurrected out of a dark tomb! You are being re-born! You just don't know it yet!"

It is hard not to love Mary Ann. Her ability to kidnap a confession and completely transform it in a nano-second is nothing short of miraculous.

"Really?" I ask.

"Of course! How can you not see it? It is all about exploring the dark places. That is where love is born! That is where healing happens! That is where God lives!"

I stare at the sun dancing on the water. "Well, Mrs. Beil you have given me another perspective."

"Good! Chew on that while you are there. Learn to love the dark places! We'll get together soon and I'll tell you all about the woods."

"OK."

"Love you!" and she hung up in as much of a flurry as when she first exploded through the phone. In the aftermath of a phone conversation with Mary Ann, what was already a calm day suddenly seemed much calmer.