Constancy and pain. . . why the two go together

Its been ten long months of writing less than I'd like and having so much to say. . .

Sometimes you feel like what you have to say just doesn't matter or cannot make a difference.  Like everyone will just assume you are spewing platitudes from a place of not really knowing pain or suffering.

I am not that old to many and ancient to youthful eyes.  But I've lived long enough to figure a few things. . .we all have our personal pain, our skeletons in the closet, demons that torment us and crosses to bear.  Also, most of us are just trying to bungle through the mess of life and look like we've got it together.

The counsel of someone I trust:  "Be brutally honest with a few, cordial with the rest."  I see the wisdom in that.  But most of us aren't even being brutally honest with a few.  Most of us are just keeping our pain to ourselves, taking care to protect it from prying eyes or loving ones that might fill with concern for us.

 He isn't making it go away.  He promised me this tribulation.  He is whispering "Be of good cheer. . ."  But I haven't quite got there yet, Lord.  And what about my Father who is in pain every day or my beautiful friend who is aching?  And I cannot do anything to stop it.  I haven't accepted that cheer is a trait for us.  Then I read the definition and it includes one little word, confidence.  Confidence has to be placed in something or someone or no hope exists.  And I place my hope in him because even though the pain isn't leaving. . . He never is.  There is no cure for our plight.  There is always personal pain, and for it there is only constancy.  There is only one who is continually constant.  And I cling to his hand.

Skeletons. . .just this year I went to another and confessed.  Confessed my sins and asked for forgiveness.  Grace shone its light on me.  The wronged person smiled, and simply shook off the past, brushed aside my guilt and lightened my heart.  And I drove away thanking God for mercy, grace and forgiveness.

 But for some there will never be forgiving words no matter how they strive.  And their skeletons lay in the closet, cluttering up space.  Taking up room where other things could be. . .things for life.  A rain coat that they could put on their backs and an umbrella to take the tears rolling down from black sky.  And they could go to a quiet place and wait for the storm to pass and they might even enjoy the sound of the thunder and feel excitment when the treetops burned from the lightning striking and finally feel . . . ALIVE, not dry and old and forgotten like the bones they hide.  And they wouldn't be so focused on the closet anymore, because everyone knows that isn't where treasures are kept or shouldn't be at least.

But what about Demons. . . aah. . .some laugh.  But I envy them.  The ones who never fought depression so black it is like a hole.  The ones who scorn weakness.  The ones who never watched someone they love fade away to a housing for dread.  Dread that doesn't make sense to anyone else that is seemingly sane. 

The ones who swear all of life is black and white and if you cannot handle it then you aren't even on the right page. That if you aren't feeling sane then maybe you aren't living right. That being mentally ill or sick or tired is a sign that you are deficient.

That you just need to read your Bible more or pray harder or longer.  Like simply doing the "right" things will make all wrongs right.  Like reading the Bible and praying are rituals and not really for growing and abiding in love, but just activities for the self righteous and those untouched by suffering, yet.

But we aren't heard for our much speaking.  We aren't promised healing from all wounds. . . And sometimes belief is all that's left.

Today is a good day.  A day when I realize that my life doesn't hinge on my sanity, my past, the future, the faithfulness of others or the digits on my bank statement.  A day when I realize that my faith isn't a magic salve.  But it is a power that holds on to me, even when I'm too weak to hold back.  And for that I will trade everything. . .

Yeah, I'd like to know I will never suffer in the grip of anxiety again or that I will never cry over the shell of someone I have loved again.  But that isn't promised.  Just constancy.  Just abiding.  Knowing that He is there and let's face it - that others who are in the flesh are here.  A physical touch that makes all the difference.  Because His hands and feet are only felt through us.

Lord,  help me to be constant for someone else today.  There are so many times you have whispered sweet peace through thinly veiled insanity, when no one else knew how low I was.  When all seemed right to the world but all was very wrong and I was too scared to get help. . . You were there.  Help me to have eyes to see those around me who hurt and to reach out.  To abide, to "continue without fading or being lost".  To comfort those with the comfort I have received from you.

Still holding your hand,   Tara