Being Wrong

This shouldn’t be a new idea, but it is to me. This shouldn’t require a paradigm shift, but it does for me. The position we have in Christ, as sons and daughters of God, as children who are beloved, adopted, redeemed, from the before the beginning of time, means that it is OK to be wrong. We can risk it all, we can abandon all reservations, we can make mistakes, we can fail. In our failure we are still loved. In our error, we are still children of the King. So let’s take a chance, let’s risk it all, let us abandon our fears of failure and our need to be right, and jump. Let us grapple full on with the complex effects of the human condition knowing we might make a mistake, and that is OK.

The Ghosts Among Us

There are ghosts among us. They haunt the sanctuaries and halls of our churches. They cross our paths often unseen. When they are noticed, it is a glimpse, a shadow, a movement without a form. 

These ghosts were people once. They had dreams and hopes, they had form, they were solid. They had faces that smiled with warmth and eyes that glimmered with life. And that life gave them strength and form to embrace and and be embraced. But the fire that once burned inside of them has gone cold. Their body has become weak and broken and immaterial. Their eyes see life all around them, but their minds cannot conceive that the life is for them any longer. They have passed from living life, to merely existing among the living. 

Something happened to them along their way. Maybe they buried a loved one, and are drowning in their sorrow. Maybe the betrayal of a friend or a lover caused them to cast their dreams aside. Maybe they were struck down on the battlefield, and were left behind when they could not rise. Maybe the crushing weight of regret and guilt overcame them, and they lost all hope. 

Their voices have become as a whisper from a dry throat, unheard among the tumult of the living. Their vision is dimmed by the darkness slowly closing in. Eyes that once beheld the beauty and grandure of the sunset in the west, now can only see just beyond the next footstep. Tears that flowed in joy have been consumed by sorrow. Feet are broken and bruised, hands shake with fear, legs are unsteady, and the back is bent. Soon they will be gone, fading into nothing, overcome by their pain and sorrow and hopelessness. 

For now they haunt our churches. They sit beside us and pass among us. We give them bulletins and shake their hands. We will smile and ask “How are you?” for the thousandth time in our meaningless way. They continue to glide in and out unnoticed, uncared for, slowly vanishing with each passing Sunday. 

We will remember that they once existed, maybe even wondering what happened to them. We will say it is sad, but we will not mourn. We will say we wish we would have known, but will remain safe in our ignorance. We will say they should have asked for help, but not stop to listen. We will say it is a shame, but not feel ashamed. 

We will go on, because life goes on, for those who are living.

  

Until someone intentions to see them, catch them, find them and not let them slip away, they will haunt us. Unless someone determines to pick them up and carry them, bind their wounds, cover their shame, and dry their tears, they will continue to fade away. Without someone to restore their hope, to show them how to dream again, to lean in close, to listen to their whispers, to mourn with them, they will soon be gone, and it will be too late. For it is only the living who can help the dying.

Somedays I forget she has a past...

Some days I forget she has a past. She is always so happy, so excited, so full of energy, overflowing, unbounded.  Then she reminds me that she wasn't always like this.

"Daddy, if I get lost in the woods, I can blow this whistle and you will find me, right?"
"Daddy, if I was lost, how long would it take for you to find me?"
"Daddy, I need a compass and a pocket knife, in case I get lost."
"Daddy, if I was lost, you would come find me, right?"

She has been there before, lost in a land of strangers, hurt, alone, cold. She knows the feeling and it still haunts her. It is part of her past, lying deep in her memories.

I don't think she is afraid of being lost, but rather the idea that someone could be lost, and then found, is what lies behind her toughts and questions. The thought is that if she is lost, she will be OK, she will be found. The thought that someone will come and find her. It makes me want to draw her close, to pull her in, to let her know I will always find her, no matter what.

I can't keep her from getting lost without taking away the things that make her who she is, her energy, her inquisitiveness, her joy. However, I can make sure she knows that no matter how lost she thinks she is - she can be found.

We all get lost from time to time, and we also need someone to come find us, to draw us close, to pull us in, to let us know we will always be found, no matter what.