It Won't Leave Me Alone

The image just won’t leave me alone.

She was lying facedown, perfectly still, on the edge of the street, in a pool of her own blood. I didn’t stop as I walked by – she was being tended to by three policemen and the paramedics were just arriving. The blood was garish and almost fake, reminding me of a child’s bright red tempera paints.

She wasn’t dirty, ragged, homeless. None of the things you would expect in a woman spotted in a pool of her own blood across the street from a corner commonly referred to as “crack alley”. Her jacket was khaki green, and contrasted with the dark pavement and bright red blood.

I walked by, but the image won’t leave me alone.

I’ve walked by that spot several times since. There’s little to indicate that someone lay there in the midst of an emergency less than a week ago. A dark, off-color stain remains on the pavement, looking more like a spill of oil from passing traffic than a remnant of the brassy blood that she lay in.

The image won’t leave me alone.

Being Handed Over to Suffering - Henri Nouwen

Another thought from Henri Nouwen

Being Handed Over to Suffering

People who live close together can be sources of great sorrow for one another. When Jesus chose his twelve apostles, Judas was one of them. Judas is called a traitor. A traitor, according to the literal meaning of the Greek word for "betraying," is someone who hands the other over to suffering.

The truth is that we all have something of the traitor in us because each of us hands our fellow human beings over to suffering somehow, somewhere, mostly without intending or even knowing it. Many children, even grown-up children, can experience deep anger toward their parents for having protected them too much or too little. When we are willing to confess that we often hand those we love over to suffering, even against our best intentions, we will be more ready to forgive those who, mostly against their will, are the causes of our pain.

Peace returning...

The following are portions of an email that I sent to a friend this morning. I felt that they rather nicely captured the space I find myself occupying today, and wanted to share them with the rest of you...

It's funny to me how sometimes it's such a struggle and a fight to slip into the presence of the Lord, and how other times, when I'm not even trying, I manage to get there quite inadvertently. This morning was one of those times. As I walked and took the train this morning I was listening to a Jason Upton album. Had to laugh at some of the lyrics… they stung a little (in a good way, I suppose).

I wrote in my journal on the train this morning "For the first time in days I feel some semblance of peace, of rest, of quiet in my heart. There is a faint possibility of hope that has been missing. This morning I believe that He will hold my heart. That He will shield me. That I will get through this season and find myself walking taller, stronger in the face of the waves. Intimacy with Him is less terrifying and more comforting a thought this morning. The pain exists, still, but this morning I believe that healing may be coming, for my heart and for so many others."

I am reminded of that line from Isaiah this morning, the one that says "a bruised reed he will not break" and am finding great comfort in that.

Just before I arrived at the office, a line from a Jason Upton song that I'm quite sure I've never heard before it played on my ipod this morning caught me, and I'm taking comfort in it as well… "In the midst of the presence/there is a stone/that the world rejected/and it kills the giant." Something comforting about that in the midst of a season where it has felt like I've faced an endless stream of "giants".

I'm relatively at peace. My heart feels quiet. It feels as if I've somehow managed surrender again (in a different way this time), and that, by managing it, I've managed to push through whatever it is that I've been swarmed with these last days and step into a clear space, an open space of rest for a little while. The waves are still there, but they're calmer and far less overwhelming at the moment. No more drowning or gasping for air in the fight to survive.

I've got plans to be still for a while later tonight, with that same Jason Upton album, and a candle or two. (stillness hasn't come easily or been very desired lately either.) I need to absorb some of the things that album offers in stillness instead of while I'm moving and commuting. This is a much better space to be occupying.

Bruised but not broken or crushed.

The Great Challenge - Henri Nouwen

Just a couple lines that caught me, from a longer passage from Henri Nouwen that arrived in my email inbox this morning...

"The great challenge is to acknowledge our hurts and claim our true selves as being more than the result of what other people do to us. Only when we can claim our God-made selves as the true source of our being will we be free to forgive those who have wounded us."

Pain, and the Unforced Rhythms of Grace.

I came across this quote from Frederick Buechner on Hope's Blog.

I was quite struck by it.

"I thought a lot about what the stewardship of pain means; the ways in which we deal with pain. Beside being a steward of it, there are alternatives. The most tempting is to forget it, to hide it, to cover it over, to pretend it never happened, because it is too hard to deal with. It is too unsettling to remember.

I think the world is always asking us to do it that way. Our families are always, in a way, part of the family system and so apt to say, "Don't talk about things that cause pain. You can't trust the world with those secrets. Those are family secrets. Keep them hidden. Keep them hidden from each other. Keep them hidden from yourself. Don't allow yourself to feel them."

I'm thinking tonight about this passage from "The Message" as well...

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." (Matthew 11:28-30)

I'm needing that reminder. Needing the "unforced rhythms of grace" in my life these days. The lack of things heavy and ill-fitting. Desiring to live freely and lightly. Praying for all of those things.