Encroaching Darkness

To understand the journey of an individual, that individual must allow another to step inside. Allowing others to step inside my life has never been a difficult task, however, it was always done once the pain had passed and I was aware of the answers to the unknowns. It was my protection. There is a valuable vantage point to allowing others into your journey once you have finished the journey. If others stepped in while you were still riddled with unknowns, well, that would be chaos; chaos is the epitome of vulnerability. Vulnerability is where we must begin.
Several years ago, as I sat blaming God for no one being present in my pain with me or no one being willing to invade my pain without my asking, I was reminded of the story of the garden of Gethsemane. You can read the account of Jesus and three of his disciples in Gethsemane in several of the gospels. In these accounts Jesus leaves the three men to pray over his coming judgment and crucifixion. The accounts note multiple times that Jesus returned to his men to only find them sleeping. One account even explains it was because “their eyes were heavy.”[1] I can only imagine the patience that it must have taken to wake the men and verbalize the request for prayer each time Jesus returned to find them sleeping. To know the impending doom that was to come and, yet still invite people into his reality. What a lame excuse it must have felt, such a pain in his heart to hear that their “eyes were heavy.” Little did they know; but he was not offput by them. In fact, he kept engaging them.
My greatest grievance is having to “ask” something of someone. Especially if it is someone that loves me. My excuse is that they should know me; they should recognize my need. If I do ask and the ask is not meant in action, then I do not ask again. Actions have always spoken louder to me than words ever could. Yet, God is reminding me over and over again of the value in invitation. The beauty of consistent and repetitive invitation to the relationships that are worth the effort. Though I am beginning to understand this importance, I am no better at the invitation.
I do not feel comfortable not having the answers. I do not feel comfortable with the recognition of my weakness and dependency upon others. After all, I have lived under the self-declared expectations that I “should” be better than I am all of my life. To be better is such an obscure thought or statement. What I ever thought that I should be better than, I honestly do not know. I just always knew I fell short; always. This is probably how the little girl came to be, so broken and, so, neglected.
My first memory of darkness was when I was a child. I remember having the chore of taking the trash can down to the end of our drive at times. I would beg my mother or father to watch me as I went down the driveway; sometimes even my sister would suffice as the watchman. Our drive was not too long or too daunting. Yet, I could sense a chilling darkness just beyond the reach of our carport lights. I would leave the can at the end and run as quick as my little legs would carry me back to the safety of the light beams. I remember the rushing of my heart as I quickly surveyed the drive behind me, peering through the darkness looking for what I felt was lingering in wait.
I wish all darkness was as easily remedied as adding more lights would have remedied my fears as a child. Darkness of the soul is not so easily navigated, though. As a child, I would also face my first experience with this darkness. This darkness became a life-altering darkness. A darkness that felt as if it was indefinitely encroaching upon my life.


[1] Matthew 26:43, New International Version