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Night on the Flint River: An Accidental Journey in Knowing by Roberta C. Bondi

By Roberta C. Bondi

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Extra resources for Night on the Flint River: An Accidental Journey in Knowing God

Sample text

Whatever he was feeling—fear and anguish, alternating restless anxiety and helplessness, hope and grief—for him during this long night alone there would be no compensation in the thought of work completed or love lived out, no ease, no consolation for my imagined death either in the memory or the knowledge of the happiness of our life together. For him, as for me, there was so much to remember known only to ourselves, shared kindness and passion, beauty and sorrow, and underlying everything else, pure, unalloyed joy.

There was nothing to see, no sliver of brightness, no faint glow, no dark and darker, no hint of the silhouette of a tree or a vine against a backdrop of a not-quite-so-black horizon. As the rain of the preceding four days had left behind the thick blanket of soaked leaves beneath our feet, it seemed to me that it had also so saturated the air through which we were to walk that it had become impenetrable to light. I wasn’t actually afraid. The sky had disappeared, it is true, and the ground along with it, but I myself was most certainly still there; and if this were the case, I knew my own body in some way would have to be reassuringly visible, no matter how faint.

Still, in situations of extreme stress, we often find ourselves turning back to the surviving remnants of our old ways of feeling, seeing, and being. That night, this was what happened to me. As night fell, my very body began to brace itself against the familiar expectations of anger and blame. When Pam responded to my panicky demand that I lie down with cheerful calmness and love and without explosive touchiness or blaming, I was so grateful I could taste it in my mouth and feel it in my fingers as a sensation of physical well-being.

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