Where the Light Enters

There's been a big gap between posts.  I had company then more company. Work. Then a nasty cold.  And in the interim, there have been a handful of half written blog posts that have not reached completion.  I guess I've been in a *squirrel* kind of mindset over the past few weeks. But I'm on the mend (despite the ongoing post nasal drip...which I'm sure you don't care to know the details of) and facing the hump day of my week of vacation; I'm starting to feel like my old self again and finding a little time to catch up.

So, I guess I'll write something uplifting and funny, right?  

Well, no...what is actually on my mind are wounds. (What? Ew!) I work in a hospital and although I'm in administration and don't see the up-close and personal wounds of those who walk through our doors, I still see plenty and I gotta tell ya...there are some people with some horribly devastating wounds.  And some of them, you wonder, how can a person survive such a thing?  Heal from such a thing?  That thing is going to leave a mark!

I'm familiar with wounds.  The kinds you don't see.  Frankly, there is not a person on this earth that has not been hurt in some way and have the scars to prove it. Some have a few more scars than others.  Some are more damaging. Some harder to survive. They all leave a mark. There is so much I could say about this subject.  Like how people respond to being hurt.  Or how people carry their wounds or hide their scars from others.  The part shame plays.  But what I really want to share is how someone recently treated one of my most painful wounds - and how I felt about that.  

The estrangement from my grandchildren is one of the most devastating experiences I've ever gone through.  Ever.  For a myriad of reasons.  This is a gaping tear in my soul that will never be repaired.  And if the day comes when it is finally healed over, a huge ragged scar will always remain;  a testament to what I have survived.

A small blessed moment happened at church the other week.  A little person from the row in front of me and a little person from the row behind crawled under the pews to meet in the middle and quietly share their crayons and activities during the sermon.  I love little people.  Always have. They are my very favourite kind of humans.  So, as I listened to the sermon, I felt this contentment and a fleeting fluttering joy with these little ones at my feet.  Sitting next to me was their great-grandmother. When the service was concluded, she leaned over to me and gently and plainly asked, "Do you miss your grandkids?"  "Yes" I nodded, the emotion lifting from the depths as if it found the express elevator.  She inquired about their ages and she smiled at me as I answered.  Nothing else was said.  She simply saw the torn up, longing part of my heart at that moment and her acknowledgement of it said "I see it - I care about it".  Her acknowledgement of it meant everything to me. It was as though she leaned over, saw my pain, and applied a balm to it.  Simple as that.  She didn't heal it and she didn't tear it open wider, just gave a small gift of relief. This holy hero just asked a simple thing.  She offered no solutions or platitudes.  Nothing.  She just inquired.  And it was enough.  

I know that some wounds are horrific, repugnant and scary - they are hard to look at. I once had a friend that looked away from me when the blood was still gushing from a particularly nasty gash. (Metaphorically speaking of course.) She was unable/unwilling to offer aid. In her discomfort she opted to ignore and minimize instead.  She "didn't want me to feel bad talking about it" she would say later. But what actually happened is that she isolated me.  I felt incredibly alone. I suppose part of the problem is she felt overwhelmed and ill-equipped to deal with this wound in its entirety.  But that's the thing - I didn't ask her to fix it, heal it, or make it go away.  I just needed someone to acknowledge what had happened to me. 

I guess my point is (do I have one?) is that you never know how acknowledging the truth in a person's life can help them.  We can all offer a little relief from time to time.  And that relief can be found in the simplest and seemingly most insignificant ways.  A smile (even at a stranger - particularly at a stranger?) a hug, or a gentle recognition of what is. It's in that bit of grace where you find you can walk a little straighter, head a little higher.  As it should be.  We should all be able to walk that way.