I could tell many stories of this past weekend, of the wedding I helped plan, from the bride and groom neglecting to get the marriage license till the day before the ceremony, to the shattered window discovered the morning I planned to drive fourteen hours. But there are moments I remember, moments that were woven into the past that made me who I am, and yet were influenced by the present.
The spacial awareness of where I was in the room, lying on the fold-out bed, on my side, hand tucked under the pillow lying under my head, turning to introspection as I realized that, for the first time in two years, I felt whole.
The afternoon at the wedding, five people who were willing to give me the secrets their hearts held, asking me for truth, sympathy, and a listening spirit. Knowing that, given the choice, I would say this is what I was born to do. Forgetting, for minutes, the present where I am no such person, as a girl held me and cried, letting her barriers down, thanking me that she could not wear a mask in my presence. Praying for them; praying for them then, praying for them still. God, help them and me; them, with the lives that are causing them to shed tears; me, with the life that is causing me to dry and wither.
The silent, stunned, disbelief, and heartfelt "no, make it go away, please, God, let my eyes be fooling me," as I sat in my car and saw the hundreds of diamond shaped by the cracks running through my windshield. The utter dependence on God that grew strong as I realized I would use the last of my PTO for this year because I could not get home when I planned. The choked laughter inside as I realized the time I'd saved for emergencies would actually be used.
Susan's face. Under the veil, but the emotion could not be hid by the drape of tulle. I had before seen the bride who was a queen, a queen that served and led and loved and lived walking in the light, and she took my breath away, but Susan was the bride, the joy that streams tears, that silently sings "You won't relent until you have it all; my heart is yours" while waiting to turn to look at her groom, the girl who trembled with triumphant, humble elation on her marriage day, the girl who caused me to smile with pure rejoicing as I watched her joined to her friend, as the two of them became one before God.
The growing knowledge that the bride's temper sets the tone for all else, for, barring one wedding, all look to see if the bride is happy, and if she is happy, then everyone else is rejoicing. For the one, not even a queen could relax the queen's mother, and that made the queen unhappy.
The time back. The utter shock as I watched "clean" episodes of CSI: Miami, and the knowledge that they were pervaded with sinful ideas--and the knowledge that I could so easily watch enough that I would no longer notice.
The question "why" dying as I came back, my sense of my life falling back to its coma, my struggle to stay away, my never-ceasing question of what is right, to do, to feel, to think, what is good, what brings light and life, not to rest on my life, for it is already there, but to shine it, to welcome it, to abide in Christ, by the grace of the God who already made me alive. God, how not to sleep, how not to be numbed?
The desire to disappear. God, I confess I want to stop work, stop relationships, to retreat, to find again the ability to sit and be quiet, to watch a stream, to breathe with the wind in a tree, to become to aware of the quiet that it settles in my soul, to find the world so fascinating that no daydream can hold me.
The delight of walking with God, the way I cannot see, feel, hear, or know it at this moment. It is an empty place, not overwhelming only because I know God has not left. To go from whole to apathetic is something I do not understand; how can I do this? Stronger still, how can I stop? How can I heal? How can I live?
Work. Oh, God, this is not what work should be. God, for the hearts that carry even heavier burdens than mine, for those of us who try to lay them down and only seem to set them on our crushed hearts, God, for those of us hear the echoes of our cries in the silences that are haunted by the thoughts that won't let us alone, God, let us know you. Every doubt that becomes desperation, every question that becomes a cry, every pleasant relief that becomes a reproach, every crushed, broken heart of your child can be answered, held, or released by who you are.
I stand before you asking, am I sleeping or awake? Is this the dream of a comatose child, or the struggles of a wearying warrior? Should I let this go, should I let that fall, should I just give up, how do I surrender to you without turning away? For to give up the fight you have called me to is evilness, but to fight by my own strength is just as bad.
I ask for this: tell me what you wish me to do, and give me the strength to do it.
But those demands are not for your children to say, for you are God, and we are not.
So I change my cry to this: help. Oh, my God, help.
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