“Why am I discouraged? Why am
I so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise him again—my Savior and my
God!” Psalm 42:5-6
I have finally found a metaphor that has
given me some peace. It isn’t the wounds of the past that have been torn open.
It is the tender skin around the scars that has been stretched and maimed by
recent events. It helps me view the terrible memories with the knowledge I have
not turned my back on the healing that has already happened.
In some ways I have suffered a set-back but
in no way is this river as deep or as black as some I have travelled. My mind
has remained intact. It didn’t slip sideways into oblivion, the place of no
memory, thoughts or consciousness. It’s an odd thing to be thankful for: being
present in the pain of today.
I am not alone in this place of collective
pain. Somehow it’s easier to bear knowing that. As much as I grieve for my
sisters whose lives reflect my own, we are a community. We have gathered to
mourn and share and weep and plant tiny seeds of hope.
These seeds will grow.
On their branches will be blossoms of grace,
forgiveness, restoration, and joy.
How beautiful it will be!
Maybe I can thank Bruxy this morning. Without
his having done what he did I wouldn’t have found this place of belonging. I
wouldn’t have discovered that briefly lowering the mask is the start of freedom.
I wouldn’t have realized how badly I need
people to come alongside this part of my journey. Amazingly, I am ready to
share my boat because there are others who need to be floated along their
own Black River. It’s a good boat, she is, built of faith and promise.
My soul lifts with hope for the first time in days.
We will get through this, together.
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