Journal excerpt from 10/1/2009
“I can hardly believe it is October! I was walking my dog this evening, and just between London Plain and Mint Court, I breathed in the unmistakable scent of autumn: crushed leaves, dirt, and the stinkbug who so fondly reminded me of my favorite seasoning. It was a delightful moment.
The morning dawned gloriously brilliant with sunshine forcing me squint through into the light. I suppose that is because I refused to wear sunglasses today out of sheer determination to allow as much radiance to penetrate my soul.
After a full morning of meetings and counseling, a surprise cancellation allowed me to meet some very dear friends for lunch. What a privilege it was! To engage in fellowship with those who are united in heart and mind is sweeter than crystallized honey, and I relished every moment... including the extra dash of sarcasm here and there. As we sat and talked, I was challenged to consider what path I would take if money were not an issue in life, following the Lord’s leading and trusting that all things are possible with Him.
For years, I have been certain that I has called me to be a part of starting a home for troubled girls. For years, I have questioned the reality and likelihood of this calling because money has always been an issue. A few hours ago, however, when I was challenged to consider how I would start a home if the financial aspect did not need to be accounted for, I had to pause. I am so passionate about God's calling, and as my day progressed, I felt the intensity increase... considering the fact that my God is not limited to my savings account.
My last client of the day was probably the hardest session I have ever had, a teenage girl whose horror stories left me sick to my stomach. I left my office in tears wishing there was a place for this young lady to go and feel safe. Safe from the individuals whose only desire was to beat her to a bloody pulp and delight in her pain. Safe from the streets she had known for years. Safe in the arms of people who were passionate about loving her to Grace and Mercy. She has never known safety. She has never heard the words ‘I love you’ with the expectation to perform. ‘Love is a joke,’ she said, ‘and I laugh to get through a day. If I don’t, I won’t make it.’ She fought desperately for apathy throughout the entire session, a bit of an oxymoron, but by the end of our time together, she was in tears to the point of hyperventilating. My heart was crying with her. When she walked out the door, all previously successful attempts to ‘hold it together’ immediately failed, and Angel Falls began a new course over my previously ‘composed’ face. I find it interesting that the world's largest waterfall, where flowing water rapidly drops, includes Angel in its name… as if were the tears of the angels themselves rushing over the cliffs of Heaven to the depths of the earth.
I have wrestled in my head and heart for many hours this evening, unable to fall asleep. Sitting here, I am realizing that not only am I deeply upset from this session, I have also been upset that I can’t just ‘leave it at work’. It's the first time this has happened, but I keep thinking that as someone intent on being a licensed professional therapist, I shouldn’t be so deeply affected, so hurt with her clients, and so intensely angry towards those who inflicted pain. At the same time though, I have to ask myself, do I really want these stories not to hurt? Am I willing to sacrifice my breaking heart for a more developed one that has the potential for rigidity and callousness? I hope not.
As I think back on my own life, the dark places I have been, my heart aches for the many girls who are still there. I’m crying even now because I desire to see them experience LIFE and FREEDOM. I have no doubt that both are found in Christ’s TRUTH, and I desperately long to be a part of helping them be reconciled to that Truth. The Greek word ‘katallasso’ literally means ‘to change from enmity to friendship, to reconcile’. ‘Apokatallasso’ means ‘to reconcile completely’ by ‘changing from one condition to another’. Beautiful.
For years, I wondered why I went through so much pain. I was angry with God for letting me be so broken and beaten down, but I know now that despite the enemy’s purpose to use evil for evil, God meant it and purposed it for His glory and my good. My past is not an accident that God had to ‘fix’. I delight in remembering it for the purpose of celebrating my freedom and offering hope to those who are as lost, scared, and alone as I was. I love sharing my story… not for the purpose of glorifying my sin, but rather glorifying my God who is infinitely bigger. I get so excited about His Grace and Mercy that I just want to dance and sing. Sometimes I do… in the middle of the night with tears dripping down my cheeks because I am overwhelmed by the Passion of a God who would delight in pursuing, rescuing, and fellowshipping with me. I love Him, and I cannot quench the desire to glorify Him by offering Mercy and Grace to young girls desperately in need of His love.
So, if money were not an issue and Lord opened the door, the planning would start now - safe places to express the hurt and pain without fear of rejection or punishment, bedrooms filled with Light and Love, music, art, nature, laughter, tears, hope, love, and joy. There will be Passion… seasoned and ripe for the Harvest.
Bring on the rain.”
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
January 22, 1973
A decision was made today. A decision that changed the lives of countless individuals. A decision that impacted parents, grandparents, children, friends, siblings. For some it changed the lives of those who continued to live; for others it changed the course of life by withholding the experience altogether. It is a decision that, although deemed to be for good, preys upon the vulnerability of a wide-eyed and terrified soul. Terror derived from a variety of sources:
the 40-year old woman afraid of complications from a later pregnancy
the excited you mother recently told her child has a "defect" of some sort
the teenage girl barely old enough to drive
the college student who will lose her scholarship
the married young couple struggling to make ends meet
You name the terror, but it's there just the same.
I have felt it.
In case you haven't figured it out by now, January 22, 1973 marks the day abortion was made legal. Thirty-seven years ago a decision was made that changed my life. Not a day goes by where I don't think, "I wonder" or "What if." When my heart doesn't hurt and the tears don't threaten to fall. Of course it has gotten easier over the past almost ten years. It's hard to believe it has been that long. I am nearly 29 years old, and though age 17 seems like a life-time ago, it feels as though it were only yesterday.
How many countless other women are there? 45% of American women have had an abortion by the age of 40. 25% can be found within the American church. That means that one out of every four women you know in your church has probably had an abortion. That means that practically half of the women you know outside of church have had an abortion. Too many if you ask me.
Abortion hurts... too much for me to stay silent. Fear and shame breed in my secrecy, so I share my story. I am overwhelmed at the prospect of my sin being so exposed to so many people yet, my fear that others will never experience the freedom I have is greater. By no means do I wish to glorify my sin, but rather, I pray that somehow, by sharing, God will be glorified. So, on Monday, January 22, 2007, I shared my story publicly at the North Carolina State Capital. I was afraid, but I remembered what fear had done in the past, how terror had previously reigned. And how I succumbed. I could not let that happen again, so I had the precious opportunity to perform a song I had written about the pain experienced by those who are post-abortive, and although afraid, my story was shared...
One of my favorite Greek words is Katallasso. It means:
1. to change or exchange
2. to reconcile (those who are at a variance)
3. return to favour with, be reconciled to one
4. to receive one into favour
That basically means that all enmity is removed and no impediment to unity with GOD or purity in CHRIST remains!
One of my favorite quotes paints a beautiful picture of such reconciliation. This passage is a perfect example of the life of freedom I hope and pray we can all embrace and a challenge to love as Christ loves:
"He swung her up and lifted her above him joyously. She threw back her head and spread her arms wide to embrace the sky, tears of celebration streaming down her cheeks. He'd read to her once how God had cast a man and a woman out of Paradise. Yet, for all their human faults and failures, God had shown them the way back in. Love the Lord your God, and love one another. Love one another as He loves. Love with strength and purpose and passion, no matter what comes against you. Don't weaken. Stand against the darkness, and love. It's the way back into Eden. It's the way back to Life."
I cannot keep what HE has done a secret. May my life and story be a testimony to such grace.
In the meantime, friends, spread your arms wide and embrace!
©January 2010
little girl alone
waiting for the words,
"it'll be alright"
to come true
a thousand tears
falling from her eyes tonight
they tell a tale of what will never be
her silent pain screams louder than
the words, "i'm fine," and she breaks
still masquerading all she feels
and all she needs
"don't worry; it's ok;
be patient; you'll move on"
but all the platitudes of this world
will never be enough
so, who will dry the tears of that little girl
who cries again tonight?
for the phantom-child her arms still long to hold?
and who will hold that little girl
when she finally falls apart
and just lets go?
who will love?
little boy alone
waiting for the words
"it'll be alright"
to come true
his throat was slit
with burning lies of passion
his heart was pierced
with daggers of deceit
his silent pain tears him limb from limb
inside and he breaks
still masquerading all he feels
and all he needs
"don't worry; it's ok;
be patient; you'll move on"
but all the platitudes of this world
will never be enough
so, who will dry the tears of that little boy
who cries again tonight?
for the phantom-child his arms still long to hold?
and who will hold that little boy
when he finally falls apart
and just lets go?
who will love?
i long to hear
the words, "i love you"
from you
as much as you long
to hear them
from me too
but just so you know
i do
©2005
A decision was made today. A decision that changed the lives of countless individuals. A decision that impacted parents, grandparents, children, friends, siblings. For some it changed the lives of those who continued to live; for others it changed the course of life by withholding the experience altogether. It is a decision that, although deemed to be for good, preys upon the vulnerability of a wide-eyed and terrified soul. Terror derived from a variety of sources:
the 40-year old woman afraid of complications from a later pregnancy
the excited you mother recently told her child has a "defect" of some sort
the teenage girl barely old enough to drive
the college student who will lose her scholarship
the married young couple struggling to make ends meet
You name the terror, but it's there just the same.
I have felt it.
In case you haven't figured it out by now, January 22, 1973 marks the day abortion was made legal. Thirty-seven years ago a decision was made that changed my life. Not a day goes by where I don't think, "I wonder" or "What if." When my heart doesn't hurt and the tears don't threaten to fall. Of course it has gotten easier over the past almost ten years. It's hard to believe it has been that long. I am nearly 29 years old, and though age 17 seems like a life-time ago, it feels as though it were only yesterday.
How many countless other women are there? 45% of American women have had an abortion by the age of 40. 25% can be found within the American church. That means that one out of every four women you know in your church has probably had an abortion. That means that practically half of the women you know outside of church have had an abortion. Too many if you ask me.
Abortion hurts... too much for me to stay silent. Fear and shame breed in my secrecy, so I share my story. I am overwhelmed at the prospect of my sin being so exposed to so many people yet, my fear that others will never experience the freedom I have is greater. By no means do I wish to glorify my sin, but rather, I pray that somehow, by sharing, God will be glorified. So, on Monday, January 22, 2007, I shared my story publicly at the North Carolina State Capital. I was afraid, but I remembered what fear had done in the past, how terror had previously reigned. And how I succumbed. I could not let that happen again, so I had the precious opportunity to perform a song I had written about the pain experienced by those who are post-abortive, and although afraid, my story was shared...
One of my favorite Greek words is Katallasso. It means:
1. to change or exchange
2. to reconcile (those who are at a variance)
3. return to favour with, be reconciled to one
4. to receive one into favour
That basically means that all enmity is removed and no impediment to unity with GOD or purity in CHRIST remains!
One of my favorite quotes paints a beautiful picture of such reconciliation. This passage is a perfect example of the life of freedom I hope and pray we can all embrace and a challenge to love as Christ loves:
"He swung her up and lifted her above him joyously. She threw back her head and spread her arms wide to embrace the sky, tears of celebration streaming down her cheeks. He'd read to her once how God had cast a man and a woman out of Paradise. Yet, for all their human faults and failures, God had shown them the way back in. Love the Lord your God, and love one another. Love one another as He loves. Love with strength and purpose and passion, no matter what comes against you. Don't weaken. Stand against the darkness, and love. It's the way back into Eden. It's the way back to Life."
I cannot keep what HE has done a secret. May my life and story be a testimony to such grace.
In the meantime, friends, spread your arms wide and embrace!
©January 2010
little girl alone
waiting for the words,
"it'll be alright"
to come true
a thousand tears
falling from her eyes tonight
they tell a tale of what will never be
her silent pain screams louder than
the words, "i'm fine," and she breaks
still masquerading all she feels
and all she needs
"don't worry; it's ok;
be patient; you'll move on"
but all the platitudes of this world
will never be enough
so, who will dry the tears of that little girl
who cries again tonight?
for the phantom-child her arms still long to hold?
and who will hold that little girl
when she finally falls apart
and just lets go?
who will love?
little boy alone
waiting for the words
"it'll be alright"
to come true
his throat was slit
with burning lies of passion
his heart was pierced
with daggers of deceit
his silent pain tears him limb from limb
inside and he breaks
still masquerading all he feels
and all he needs
"don't worry; it's ok;
be patient; you'll move on"
but all the platitudes of this world
will never be enough
so, who will dry the tears of that little boy
who cries again tonight?
for the phantom-child his arms still long to hold?
and who will hold that little boy
when he finally falls apart
and just lets go?
who will love?
i long to hear
the words, "i love you"
from you
as much as you long
to hear them
from me too
but just so you know
i do
©2005
Thursday, January 21, 2010
What a Girl Wants
“Patience is a virtue so You tell, but I can’t wait for You to take my breath away.”
Do I mean “can’t wait” in the sense that I am impatient, or do I mean it in a sense of healthy anticipation? Can I mean both? Please?
“Hayakushite!”
Hurry up!
“Choto-mate-kudasai.”
Wait a minute, please.
I lived in Japan for two years. These are two of the phrases I knew the best, aside from “where’s the bathroom” of course, which, even then, I still probably used the first phrase in conjunction with it because I firmly believe that God created my bladder with a capacity significantly smaller than the average human bladder’s capacity of 17 fluid ounces.
My patience, or lack thereof, is born out of my pride. Me first and get out of my way.
It is also born out of my discomfort. I am miserable; make me happy.
Me first.
Speed dial.
Speed dating.
Speed channel.
Get rich quick.
Lose weight fast.
Now, now, now. Me, me, me.
We live in expedia.com.
So, I act. I act because I refuse to be still and wait. All because I doubt that God is truly for me.
Awhile ago, I went to the beach early one Saturday. I started the almost two-hour drive to Wilmington at 4:45AM because I wanted to see the sunrise. I made it, and it was well-worth it. Buster went with me. For the most part, the day was overcast and cool, but it made the beach a solitary place, which was my whole reason for going. It was a sweet opportunity to sit with the Lord and be still. I stayed for almost 7 hours. No one was there… except for a very occasional wanderer. I got to read, pray, cry, laugh out loud, run around with Buster and play in the waves, sing loudly, and dance like nobody was watching. Yeah, I did all that alone with an audience of One. OK, two if you count Buster.
I also remember writing a lot. It's always interesting to go back in time and see growth and change. Remember the Dr. Seuss book "Oh the Places You'll Go"? There ought to be one entitled "Oh the Places You've Been, But Look at You Now". It was bittersweet to re-experience that moment:
“I am sitting at the beach. It is overcast and cool, but I have gotten away… even if it is only for a few hours. The waves are HUGE, a reminder of the majesty of the One who created them. His words tickle my ears even now, whispered above the roar of the waves and sending ribbons of Truth swirling to the depths of my soul. As I think about my past, I am convicted, not with guilt over what has been, but convicted because I realize that I have had an abortion every single day of my life… not in the sense of lying on a surgical table with legs spread-eagle, but definitely in the sense of determining whether or not a life is invaluable. I have sinned. I got angry and lashed out at someone who did not deserve it. I spent more time watching a movie than communicating with my Father. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I spent more time worrying about my success in school/work/etc. than cultivating the friendships I so fervently cherish. I have given in to destruction on a daily basis. Sadly, I fail so often to recognize the need to value Life… not just breath, although that is infinitely precious. Rather, I am speaking of an abundance in Life, a partaking of a new Nature that denies the destruction of souls through its very existence… if only I were a bit more disciplined in practicing its fullness. Oh, how free I desperately long to be. I want to scream, cry, laugh, and be still all at once. I want to run with abandonment, dance without shame, and rest without guilt overpowering the sweet sensation of stillness. My heart yearns to be known, to be known and cherished, and to be cherished both despite and because of who I am. I am excited about this journey that I am on, but I am afraid, too, like a strange form of anticipation where peace somehow mingles with a little taste of impatience. I cannot really describe the sensation. I just know that I’m ready. For what, I don’t know. But I am ready. God rest my soul; here I come.”
With all my heart, I believe God’s Grace is real. I believe that It is big, but the majority of my efforts to embrace It are only half-hearted. Partly because I want to be strong enough and good enough on my own and partly because I don’t want to let go of what is comfortable. I SAY I want to change, but do I really? If I do, why don’t I act upon it? Or how about if I THINK I am acting upon it, but in reality am not? What is it about repentance that scares me so much? What is it about the sin that destroys me that is so appealing I’d do almost anything to cling to its darkness? Why am I so afraid of Light? Because it will reveal what really is? Because someone might not like me? Because hiding will no longer be possible? Because I will be vulnerable?
I smell of fear. In fact, I REEK of it, and the only remedy for such a stench is to bathe in the LIGHT of Grace and Truth. Though, I think I would actually prefer to drown… to be out of breath because Truth has stolen it away. But the water is always cold at first, and wading in takes time. I mean seriously, why don’t I just jump? It's not like the waves aren't big enough to catch me. I mean, isn't that what every girl wants?
…to be “swept off her feet”.
© September 2008
Do I mean “can’t wait” in the sense that I am impatient, or do I mean it in a sense of healthy anticipation? Can I mean both? Please?
“Hayakushite!”
Hurry up!
“Choto-mate-kudasai.”
Wait a minute, please.
I lived in Japan for two years. These are two of the phrases I knew the best, aside from “where’s the bathroom” of course, which, even then, I still probably used the first phrase in conjunction with it because I firmly believe that God created my bladder with a capacity significantly smaller than the average human bladder’s capacity of 17 fluid ounces.
My patience, or lack thereof, is born out of my pride. Me first and get out of my way.
It is also born out of my discomfort. I am miserable; make me happy.
Me first.
Speed dial.
Speed dating.
Speed channel.
Get rich quick.
Lose weight fast.
Now, now, now. Me, me, me.
We live in expedia.com.
So, I act. I act because I refuse to be still and wait. All because I doubt that God is truly for me.
Awhile ago, I went to the beach early one Saturday. I started the almost two-hour drive to Wilmington at 4:45AM because I wanted to see the sunrise. I made it, and it was well-worth it. Buster went with me. For the most part, the day was overcast and cool, but it made the beach a solitary place, which was my whole reason for going. It was a sweet opportunity to sit with the Lord and be still. I stayed for almost 7 hours. No one was there… except for a very occasional wanderer. I got to read, pray, cry, laugh out loud, run around with Buster and play in the waves, sing loudly, and dance like nobody was watching. Yeah, I did all that alone with an audience of One. OK, two if you count Buster.
I also remember writing a lot. It's always interesting to go back in time and see growth and change. Remember the Dr. Seuss book "Oh the Places You'll Go"? There ought to be one entitled "Oh the Places You've Been, But Look at You Now". It was bittersweet to re-experience that moment:
“I am sitting at the beach. It is overcast and cool, but I have gotten away… even if it is only for a few hours. The waves are HUGE, a reminder of the majesty of the One who created them. His words tickle my ears even now, whispered above the roar of the waves and sending ribbons of Truth swirling to the depths of my soul. As I think about my past, I am convicted, not with guilt over what has been, but convicted because I realize that I have had an abortion every single day of my life… not in the sense of lying on a surgical table with legs spread-eagle, but definitely in the sense of determining whether or not a life is invaluable. I have sinned. I got angry and lashed out at someone who did not deserve it. I spent more time watching a movie than communicating with my Father. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I spent more time worrying about my success in school/work/etc. than cultivating the friendships I so fervently cherish. I have given in to destruction on a daily basis. Sadly, I fail so often to recognize the need to value Life… not just breath, although that is infinitely precious. Rather, I am speaking of an abundance in Life, a partaking of a new Nature that denies the destruction of souls through its very existence… if only I were a bit more disciplined in practicing its fullness. Oh, how free I desperately long to be. I want to scream, cry, laugh, and be still all at once. I want to run with abandonment, dance without shame, and rest without guilt overpowering the sweet sensation of stillness. My heart yearns to be known, to be known and cherished, and to be cherished both despite and because of who I am. I am excited about this journey that I am on, but I am afraid, too, like a strange form of anticipation where peace somehow mingles with a little taste of impatience. I cannot really describe the sensation. I just know that I’m ready. For what, I don’t know. But I am ready. God rest my soul; here I come.”
With all my heart, I believe God’s Grace is real. I believe that It is big, but the majority of my efforts to embrace It are only half-hearted. Partly because I want to be strong enough and good enough on my own and partly because I don’t want to let go of what is comfortable. I SAY I want to change, but do I really? If I do, why don’t I act upon it? Or how about if I THINK I am acting upon it, but in reality am not? What is it about repentance that scares me so much? What is it about the sin that destroys me that is so appealing I’d do almost anything to cling to its darkness? Why am I so afraid of Light? Because it will reveal what really is? Because someone might not like me? Because hiding will no longer be possible? Because I will be vulnerable?
I smell of fear. In fact, I REEK of it, and the only remedy for such a stench is to bathe in the LIGHT of Grace and Truth. Though, I think I would actually prefer to drown… to be out of breath because Truth has stolen it away. But the water is always cold at first, and wading in takes time. I mean seriously, why don’t I just jump? It's not like the waves aren't big enough to catch me. I mean, isn't that what every girl wants?
…to be “swept off her feet”.
© September 2008
Sunday, January 17, 2010
How Are You?
(The Many Faces of Sad)
I am a therapist, and I counsel people fairly regularly. I see sad in my office all the time, but the sad that I saw when I slowed to take a breath broke my heart. It was the sad of the everyday, the sad that may or may not cross the threshold of a counselor’s office, the sad that often goes unnoticed and unacknowledged because the expected response is “I’m fine”.
Of course, there was the sad on the face of a little girl whose mom said “no” to the toy she wanted at Target. And then there was the sad on the face of the mother who was too tired to keep saying “no” to the constant screams. There was the sad in my heart as the daughter’s eyes lit up with the purchase of the beloved because, although she didn’t know it yet, the little girl would probably be sad again tomorrow. A lot of little kids had that sad… so did a lot of moms.
There was the sad on the old man’s face because, to him, it seemed the whole world had forgotten him. Do you know that he cried when I smiled and said “hello”? “No youngin’s done talked to me like that in years.” He didn’t need much, just a smile and a little affirmation that someone cared. A lot of us could do that, but I am sad because not many will.
I watched a woman wander through the baby clothes section. She had tears in her eyes. I knew she was a mother but could not, or at least would not, openly reveal that truth because her sadness was “her fault”. She had no right to be sad because she had made her choice… maybe even more than once.
I also saw sad in the slumped shoulders of the preteen girl who stared at a perfectly airbrushed picture of the model body she knew she’d never have, but would starve in an attempt to get as close to it as possible. She was sad because the desired perfection had nothing to do with a body at all. She just didn’t know that.
At the park, I saw the sadness of a little boy whose daddy yelled when he didn’t catch the ball. I watched the tears trickle down his face and heard his quiet sniffs as he ran after the ball. I could hear him whisper, “I’m sorry, Daddy; I’ll get it next time” as he threw the ball back. A doubtful “OK” was the response.
It was blazing hot, but she was wearing long sleeves as she settled on the piano bench. Her sleeves shifted as she raised her hands to place them on the keyboard, and I could see sad in the pattern of scars along each arm. I felt the hot prickle of sad tingling behind my own eyes.
There is the sad in the eyes of the numerous youth who have lost friends to drugs, alcohol, murder, suicide, and so-called games.
There is sad in the millions of young people who have been let down, betrayed, and violated by those who are supposed to care, to love, to protect.
I can see sad behind the sunglasses hiding a black eye, and I hear sad in the little girl’s voice as she tells me that she “fell down the stairs” and her mom tried to catch her.
I feel it in my own heart as my friend says, “I wonder if I will be alone forever”, “It still hurts so much”, and “Am I good enough?”
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but when was the last time you looked? Or took the time to listen past convenience? Do you know sad when you see it? Have you seen its relentless advance, this ravaging disease that takes its toll on the melancholy warrior with hollow soul-eyes and emaciated spirit-bones? It is not a disease that only happens “far away” to the "unclean" or "really bad". It happens in the office, the local shopping centers, the park, our homes and our churches. It is a disease that doesn't just strike at the core of our humanity. It is our humanity, and yet it merits our compassion. It calls for our tears. It calls for our sad.
Whenever I tell people that I am a therapist, I usually hear, “I could never do that. I don’t have enough compassion.” It hurts to see hurt, and I am sad with the many faces of sad. But what hurts the most is that many of those who are sad may never know it, and even though I can hurt with some, there are others will never have the privilege of shared sad.
However, despite the fact that I am called to share sad, it is my duty and my delight to reveal the Truth that venturing beyond “I’m fine” to authenticity through explicit sad has the deeply-rooted potential to be a prelude for Joy.
Oh and by the way: How are you?
©Becky Jorgenson November 2009
I am a therapist, and I counsel people fairly regularly. I see sad in my office all the time, but the sad that I saw when I slowed to take a breath broke my heart. It was the sad of the everyday, the sad that may or may not cross the threshold of a counselor’s office, the sad that often goes unnoticed and unacknowledged because the expected response is “I’m fine”.
Of course, there was the sad on the face of a little girl whose mom said “no” to the toy she wanted at Target. And then there was the sad on the face of the mother who was too tired to keep saying “no” to the constant screams. There was the sad in my heart as the daughter’s eyes lit up with the purchase of the beloved because, although she didn’t know it yet, the little girl would probably be sad again tomorrow. A lot of little kids had that sad… so did a lot of moms.
There was the sad on the old man’s face because, to him, it seemed the whole world had forgotten him. Do you know that he cried when I smiled and said “hello”? “No youngin’s done talked to me like that in years.” He didn’t need much, just a smile and a little affirmation that someone cared. A lot of us could do that, but I am sad because not many will.
I watched a woman wander through the baby clothes section. She had tears in her eyes. I knew she was a mother but could not, or at least would not, openly reveal that truth because her sadness was “her fault”. She had no right to be sad because she had made her choice… maybe even more than once.
I also saw sad in the slumped shoulders of the preteen girl who stared at a perfectly airbrushed picture of the model body she knew she’d never have, but would starve in an attempt to get as close to it as possible. She was sad because the desired perfection had nothing to do with a body at all. She just didn’t know that.
At the park, I saw the sadness of a little boy whose daddy yelled when he didn’t catch the ball. I watched the tears trickle down his face and heard his quiet sniffs as he ran after the ball. I could hear him whisper, “I’m sorry, Daddy; I’ll get it next time” as he threw the ball back. A doubtful “OK” was the response.
It was blazing hot, but she was wearing long sleeves as she settled on the piano bench. Her sleeves shifted as she raised her hands to place them on the keyboard, and I could see sad in the pattern of scars along each arm. I felt the hot prickle of sad tingling behind my own eyes.
There is the sad in the eyes of the numerous youth who have lost friends to drugs, alcohol, murder, suicide, and so-called games.
There is sad in the millions of young people who have been let down, betrayed, and violated by those who are supposed to care, to love, to protect.
I can see sad behind the sunglasses hiding a black eye, and I hear sad in the little girl’s voice as she tells me that she “fell down the stairs” and her mom tried to catch her.
I feel it in my own heart as my friend says, “I wonder if I will be alone forever”, “It still hurts so much”, and “Am I good enough?”
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but when was the last time you looked? Or took the time to listen past convenience? Do you know sad when you see it? Have you seen its relentless advance, this ravaging disease that takes its toll on the melancholy warrior with hollow soul-eyes and emaciated spirit-bones? It is not a disease that only happens “far away” to the "unclean" or "really bad". It happens in the office, the local shopping centers, the park, our homes and our churches. It is a disease that doesn't just strike at the core of our humanity. It is our humanity, and yet it merits our compassion. It calls for our tears. It calls for our sad.
Whenever I tell people that I am a therapist, I usually hear, “I could never do that. I don’t have enough compassion.” It hurts to see hurt, and I am sad with the many faces of sad. But what hurts the most is that many of those who are sad may never know it, and even though I can hurt with some, there are others will never have the privilege of shared sad.
However, despite the fact that I am called to share sad, it is my duty and my delight to reveal the Truth that venturing beyond “I’m fine” to authenticity through explicit sad has the deeply-rooted potential to be a prelude for Joy.
Oh and by the way: How are you?
©Becky Jorgenson November 2009
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