Irritation makes her bark and bristle, so I lean closer. I speak softer and I skirt raw spots as we trace her story. She lived a childhood unprotected, and has lived it over and over again. She's not the only one who teeters on the edge of shouting or shaking. They are here, drowning in a welter of loss. Everyone seems to have lost. A husband, a childhood, peace of mind, safety. Gone where?
His polished smile and prepped answers draw me in. It's a performance he's perfected. He's saying its all OK now, but is it? Does gut-tearing shame heal like changing the TV channel, or from reading inspiration in the Women's Weekly? He almost convices me that it does. But when he speaks real, honest words, I can see he's on the edge, too. Of tears. Of giving up. Of seeking real change.
This place of pain and of struggle and the wrestle between life and death. The mingling of despair and hope, where all I can add is my pittance that 'it will be OK'. And this says nothing substantial, or solid, to cling to.
I can listen, too. Especially to the feelings and thoughts that we're not supposed to have. Like being angry at your husband who just died, leaving you to mop up his life. Or that you wish you were dead because the hole you are in feels endless, and dark, and crushing.
So many rules about how we should feel, how we should act, how we should live. I think about religious men questioning why Jesus didn't follow certain customs or rituals, and his answer I'm reading over and over. Puzzling how to absorb it and live it.
I desire mercy not sacrifice.
It's not the healthy that need a doctor, but the sick.
What does it mean to live a merciful life, and then also know that I'm one of the sick, too? A merciful life, but not a proud one.
Remembering that I'm welcomed in the same way - embraced with my messy heart and unruly feelings - needing mercy too. Us and them just doesn't work. It needs to be me among all of us. All of us sinners who need mercy. All of us lost, needing to be found. Everyone sick and needing a doctor.
(over the next few fridays, i plan to choose a post from the weekly imperfect prose link-up to highlight through a "guest post" .... this one is by kath at listening space; make sure you stop by her beautiful place, friends. love you.)
6 comments:
My spiritual gift is mercy, and this post really spoke to me. Mercy is complicated. It requires discernment, I think, in its offering. I watch caregivers burn out because they do too much for the wrong people. I know that sentence reads like I'm callous, but I'm not. I'm merciful, but I'm also cautious. I pray and ask God: where are you sending me, Lord? To whom should I go, next, and what should I take with me? And He sends me to the right places. Because none can go everywhere. We don't want to enable (and therefore feed the addictions) of anyone. We want to help. We want to shine the light of Christ.
Mercy is also complicated because it can be difficult to ask for, let alone accept. It's hard to ask the saints in our lives to pray for us when the needs of others seem so much greater. But in asking for prayer and help (when we genuinely need it), we afford others the opportunity to participate in the work of God.
Many sides of the same word, the same mystery. Mercy. Beautiful.
Thank you again for sharing, Kath, and for hosting, Emily.
nice...i like this...jesus did not follow all the religeous rules...that kinda gives me hope...ha...but also through your words you challenge us to think deeper into what these scriptures are really saying...
This sentence stopped me:
"What does it mean to live a merciful life, and then also know that I'm one of the sick, too?"
I think I'll be reflecting on it all day. Those 20 words speak volumes.
Thanks Em, for inviting me to share here at your place. I love visiting and especially sharing in Imperfect Prose. Thanks Brandee, Brian and Sheila for your responses. They are encouraging to me.
I wrote this thinking of the way that I am only able to show mercy because it is first shown to me in Jesus. And that I can easily have pride in being merciful. I am really challenged to try to avoid 'us and them' thinking...
spiritual means to love and be loved.
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oh how this hums deep in me. it's so good to be among such company. bless you, kath. bless you, em.
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