Most of my life, I have been haunted.
Haunted by fear.
Immobilized.
Afraid that there is nothing I can do.
Afraid of doing nothing.
And over the last few days, I've felt more haunted than usual.
Dreams of small children, the innocent, encountering something that they cannot reason or understand; encountering situations where that look of fear and not knowing is all they have.
That look has haunted me.
I even dreamt that the blind one-eyed cat leapt off the balcony of a high building – accidentally – only to fall and fall and fall. In my dream, I saw her face the entire fall.
Bewildered.
Afraid.
Trying to make sense of it all.
Fortunately, the dream ended with her landing softly – gently almost – and shaken up, but okay. The dream still haunts and has had me on my face this morning while my computer went wonky.
One reason that I prefer action over "negotiation" is that I fear that time of not knowing. I dread the moment between realization of an event and when the pain shows up and one either acts or retreats within.
That look.
I saw that look when my ex-husband told our children that he was leaving.
I lived that look when I was younger, always stepping on eggshells, afraid what I would encounter…who I would encounter and the despair of not being rescued. The despair that grew into anger and control…and proving my worth, intelligence, loyalty, hard work, and too much more.
I saw the look in the Dominican Republic when Mr. P bandaged a little boy's head during church service.
Why after all of these years have these faces and rememberings returned to haunt?
Probably because I need to press in and finish dealing with them – for this round.
The Sandusky trial, news of the Syrian government consuming it's children to maintain power, and stories of people like me – of a wobbly-kneed faith who fail.
It brings me to my knees.
I cannot outrun it, nor out-pray it, or out work-it. Especially since moving to Adventures in Missions where God seems to have taken the opportunity to strip off the death clothes and wash me fresh for life. Good hard healing.
Today, however, my cheese is falling off my cracker.
I had plans to finish a few projects, launch a few more, and – in the meantime – resettle my space, but my head is heavy with grief and I am weary with the haunting. I'll work my full day, but it may take all night.
Let me be clear: this mystery of God and love and faith and hope is sure and true – as true as memories and stories and news from too close and too far.
This life does not guarantee answers.
This faith life does not guarantee ease and smooth sailing.
Yet it is so worth the doing, the tasting and seeing that it is good, the endurance and perseverance to see it through.
Still Haunted.
Haunted by memories and regrets and stories untold and unbelieved. Haunted by times when I didn't act to self-rescue or to rescue another.
You know, you really cannot rescue another. You can only hope to offer them hope enough to calm down and to work with you as you swim to shore.
Why now?
Why today?
Why these last weeks and months and years and breaths of so many people who have been consumed for the fleeting greed of another's appetites?
Digging deep.
Face flat on the floor.
I'll be okay. I have a friend praying for me.
And I'm mildly annoyed that I have to write this blog.
And strangely grateful.
Maya Angelou wrote "Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now." I read it years ago after discovering a love for her while watching "How to Make an American Quilt". I will continue to echo her call about this undulating life, wouldn't take nothing for it now. Especially in light of Madi, Kenan, and the friends who make this life worth embracing.
There is so little I know. But I know that this haunting will drive me closer to Him who is my home and to my knees where the first line of action is rooted.
In the meantime, I'll weep a bit, cry out, and ask that nothing is wasted. And that bitterness and entitlement stay far from my heart which is in so much physical pain right now that it feels like it will truly break. Curiously, the frightened face I see when I close my eyes is no longer my own. This lets me know that "it gets better."
The face…faces I see are theirs and something must be done.
