The long line of umbrellas look like modest rain igloos
built around each soul. The rain
torrential. I spy my girl waiting for
her train, pulling her umbrella as close as should could to her head, her
face.
Everything was perfectly
still. It was as if for a few seconds, time
stopped. I knew in just a moment,
everything would start again but my heart told me to capture this.
This is what quiet looks like. This is the moment before everything
else. This is the moment I typically
rush through waiting to get to the next thing.
But not today. In my eyes, the
rain looked like suffering, and the umbrellas translated to the cold clear
message that I don’t like it and I never did.
I held out my hand; the rain poured in. It wasn’t so bad. My hand was wet but it didn’t soil, or pain
or scar. The glistening of the water
seemed to tell its own story and I felt much more in touch with something I
typically run from.
What if I leaned more into the painful parts of
life? What if I stopped to figure out
why they hurt? What if the message of
their angst is something I am supposed to learn from instead of run from? What if that moment, that decision, that willingness to
stand in it is the beginning of healing?
What if I took my umbrella down so that the world could
see the hurt?
Would they let me see
theirs as well?
When did we start believing that showing pain, and
talking pain and being honest is a bad thing?
Perhaps even more subtly we have determined we are not the marching
Christian soldier if our legs are weak and our hearts ache.
I determine that honesty must be as much a goal of the
inward soul as it is the outward speak.
I realize some hurts cannot be wished away or covered
up; the healing comes in the revealing.
So, we let the rain fall and the tears well. They wash away the notion of perfection and
pride and they invite something too. The
suffering child finds the Father who has known suffering. The lonely finds company. The pain is not displaced it finds its place
and light shines where darkness stood.
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