"Liminal space can provide an opening to learn something new and to discover something - a gift we didn't know we possessed, or aren't sure we want to accept."
~ from Alphabet of Faith by Sara Jewell

The word liminal comes from the Latin word limens, which means threshold. 
As in, we are always on the verge of ending something and starting something new. 
I've come to realize that the concept of liminal space -- 
that time of waiting, of being in-between, 
of standing on the platform waiting for the next train to arrive,
only the tunnel before you is dark and silent --
occurs more frequently than we realize.

That perhaps our lives are marked
by liminal spaces. 
Not just one, but several, even many. 
Times of waiting. 
Times of standing in the doorway,
closing a door to one way of living 
and waiting for the door to a new way of living
to open up. 

Right now -- and this is a blog exclusive --
my dog is dying. 
We don't really know what is wrong with her 
(a bump inside her spleen is all we got late Friday afternoon)
and we don't know how long this will take. 
She is sleeping all the time,
she has entered her liminal space between life and death. 

Dying is a liminal space. 

So we are waiting.
And wondering. And watching. 
A door to one way of living --
as a pack of three --
will close
and we will enter another liminal space 
as a couple with no dog,
as a couple grieving the loss of their companion,
and wondering what new door will open, and when. 

Ah, grief. The ultimate liminal space, 
and of course, that happens several times in a lifetime. 

Liminal space, like grief,
is that gift -- or "gift" --
that we don't really want to accept
but know there is grace in the space
and hope at that threshold.



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