A Letter to the Hurting

The last few days I have been with several people who are dealing with some big things in their lives.  Family issues, personal issues, mental health issues, relationship issues, job issues.  There’s been a lot.  For each of these individuals, I have thought about the flooded bench images from the last few posts.  There’s something about this bench that keeps drawing me in because the shifts in how this bench (and the area around it) is seen is so much like life.  The other day as I was walking on the non-flooded path above and rounded the corner from where the bench was, I looked down and saw just the tip of this bush poking up out of the flooding waters and a letter started to form in my heart.

Dear Friend,

I know you are hurting.  I know that life right now feels completely overwhelming.  A few weeks ago, life was as it always seemed to be.  You were walking on dry, well-worn, and predictable paths of life.  But now, the path is gone.  The waters began to rise slowly and then faster and faster to the point when now you may feel like this bush.  The world feels unsafe and unsteady.  You may feel like most of your self is underwater and you’re just barely able to keep your face above the waters.  It is exhausting, scary, and you want things back to how they were before. I hear you and I see you.  I’ve been in places like that and I know I probably will be again.  You may feel alone but you are not.  I am here.  Others are here.  God is here.

I know in my times like this, I wondered whether the waters would ever recede and whether I would see those familiar paths once again.  It felt like day after day nothing changed.  I was treading water and nothing changed.  But slowly, almost imperceptibly, the waters did begin to recede.  Slowly, I was able to release my neck from stretching up to try to be sure I could stay above the water.  I was able to start to feel the ground beneath me and eventually I began to see the outlines of what was known and familiar once again.

I wish I could say that when the waters receded that all was back to what it once was.  However, as I looked around, I saw everything that the risen waters had dredged up.  As in the second photo, the mud and dirt was still on the path and the branches and all around me reflected the struggle that we all had just been through.  But I was still able to stand, I was drying off, and I was able to move around on familiar and solid ground once again.  But I was forever changed by those times as you will be as well. There will be wounds but you will have grown to be able to withstand more.  As a friend wrote in her book on hope, “The bad news is, it doesn’t get easier. The good news is, we do get stronger.”

The receding waters will come.  But for right now, once again, know that you are not alone.  Unlike the photo above, I won’t stand at a distance afraid to get my feet (and my camera) wet.  I’ll swim out to you and be there with you as you need me.  You do not need to be alone.   The waters will recede.  The solid ground will reappear.  And you’ll be walking once again.

Grace, Peace, Love, and Joy,
Ed