One month ago, upon the expiration of my 12 week sabbatical, I returned to my job in the mental health field. It’s been hard. Not really due to the hours or the schedule; that was the easy part of the transition. No, my struggle is placed elsewhere. Four weeks back in the battle and I’m noticing the trauma has been harder for me to cope with than at any other time I can recall in my 4-year tenure.
I don’t know why. Perhaps being exposed to so much brokenness made me long more intensely for wholeness. Perhaps the time away tricked me into thinking I had started seeing more of that wholeness, not wanting to believe I was merely turning my head away so as to shift the view in front of my eyes. The brokenness hasn’t gone anywhere, and if anything it has gained one up one me while I was away pretending it didn’t exist. Pretending so as to make a feeble reach towards securing my own sanity of the soul. Well my perspective has been un-shifted, and in many ways, I wish that it hadn’t.
I realize the following words are not theologically sound, but I need this moment of pure expression and cathartic rant. My heart is heavy and I need to fling honest questions towards a Deity I have to believe sits next to me, sees my red swollen eyes, and allows my fits to beat against his chest.
So void of censorship, here is my open letter to G-d
I can see the eyes of this child
But I can’t see you
I can’t even feel you
Here in this room, this tiny room with the lock turned on the handle
Are you too young-that you do not yet care?
Or are you too old and you have merely forgotten?
I wish you would speak
And that your words would be anything but empty
Maybe it’s just that you’ve lost the sight in your eyes
Or perhaps you can no longer hear their cries
Are there places you can’t reach?
I want to know because I could use somebody
To help rage
Rage against this darkness
We are going nowhere fast
And it really doesn’t matter if you notice me or not
But please, please notice her
Couldn’t you hear the screams?
The ones I heard come through the phone
As knife was put to skin
I couldn’t stand it
I wanted to reach through the phone and take away the knife
But I couldn’t
But I always thought you could
I just don’t understand… why you don’t
Maybe it’s true what they say
Maybe the love does run out
But isn’t there more on the way?
Because I’m trying
Trying to rage against the dying of the light
Only it seems the darkness wins every round
What happens when I can’t do it anymore?
When the years and bruises render me a worthless worrier
With hands and heart that no longer work
What happens then???
Do we all fade, fragmented pieces enveloped
And suffocated by that darkness
That in the end turned out to be too much for any one of us
For all of us
I know there will be a day of restoration
A day when all things will be made new
Not just the making of all new things
I ACHE for that day
Wait with bated breath for that day
With salty tear-filled eyes long for that day
Because I’m tired
Tired of looking at
And dismantled minds
And bloodied bodies
And the lives of children thrown into the trash
The lives no one else sees
So I don’t know why
I swear to G-d I don’t
Why “that day” can’t be today
What could possibly be the point in a delay?
WHAT COULD EVER BE THE POINT?!
Far outside of an advent season I implore; I beg
“Come, Lord Jesus, COME!”
And I pray
“O merciful father, whose face the angels of thy little ones do always behold in heaven; grant us steadfastly to believe that this, thy child, hath been taken into the safe keeping of thine eternal love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”