They say a child can drown in two inches of water. I guess I could as well under the right circumstances.
Isn’t it odd how we are taught not to feel sorry for ourselves – yet my default position is that I do? So much for traditional teaching.
On the outside only those who really know me know that on the outside I am not. But on the inside I am. On the inside I am hurting. Yet how many times have I told myself it’s not worth it – they aren’t worth it – I am better than this … ? Except that I can drown in “two inches of water”.
And I do.
How many times do I tell myself: “Look at that person over there.” The one with no arms or legs – BUT with the the biggest smile – so inspiring – such a role model – they wouldn’t drown in my two inches of water …
Or maybe I won’t allow myself to think of them ever “drowning” at all.
The Good Samaritan comes to mind. I wonder whether those passers-by allowed themselves ever to be emotionally connected to anyone “drowning” in a mere splash of blood … by the side of the road … on a crude cross … in a “terribly indulgent” splash of tears …
I don’t think it’s just a “religious thing” (that I blame so easily). I have met people who are drowning inside … who have told me that they “shouldn’t feel like this …. shouldn’t be thinking like this … can’t say this to anyone … “ It’s not a church thing – it’s a living thing. Which is why (in and out of church) my only words are ever:
“But you do … and you are … and you can.”
Because I feel like that sometimes … I think like that sometimes … I never tell anybody. Don’t you – doesn’t everybody – at some point think: “I can’t say this to anyone” … ?
And in that moment I believe it is for ever. I am drowning in that moment. But not for ever. Not usually. Which is why in that moment of connection all I want to hear is:
“You do … you are … you can.”
Because when I am in that place I don’t want you (or me) to whip out this “is he really drowning” tape measure and show me how embarrassingly shallow it all is. I don’t need to be told how this is a mere sprinkling of (not even very cold) water.
I want to be allowed to be right … to weather a storm where you only see a few rain drops. I want to be heard, hugged and held … emotionally, intellectually and physically.
I want to be allowed to be right to say, think and feel who I am – what I am – and where I am – right there and right then. To be allowed to be me – especially in that moment – while I learn how to heal myself again.
Heal. Myself. Again.
Allow me to be right. Allow me to be drowning in your few drops of water. Allow me to be on my knees. Allow me to be face down in the gutter. But please …
Don’t pass me by … don’t be embarrassed by me … don’t be afraid to be seen to hold my hand … Don’t be afraid of me. I am not infectious.
This is not about “sin” but about living. So please hug me and mean it … please hold me up because you only see me.
My friend GSHJ does that … allows that … is that friend always.
He is there for the journey, the whole journey, and nothing but the journey (so help me God).
And I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I have learned that he doesn’t whip out a spiritual – physical – ethical – righteous measuring tape of The Law of The Bible. He doesn’t see two inches or two fathoms or even the worst storm ever.
God Soft Hands Jesus always sees me.
The me, the whole me, and nothing but the me (so help me God). And he is never afraid of what he sees. He never passes by. I can never be “infectious” or dirty … only me always.
And if he can and he does –
Then I think I should as well.
.
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