How long, O Lord? How long?
I've never hurt more deeply than I have this week. Tears on Monday and Tuesday gave way again to anger and numbness on Wednesday and Thursday. The last few days I've traveled so far up and down that I have emotional vertigo and my plan is going down in the clouds.
I laughed this morning. That's something. I'm thankful I can still laugh. You know, I think that I can do everything I could do before, except for one thing: live. Living is the impossible thing for me. I have to busy myself so that I don't think, because thinking hurts. Whenever my mind wanders, it goes back to the same place-- and I wonder what that place is, because it feels as close to hell as anything I've known. And hell is not fire and sharp pains of burning flesh. Hell is when the pain is so deep and so strong that you cannot feel it, you only know it's presence by the absence of everything else. It's like when you listen to really deep bass -- you don't hear it, but you know it because you cannot hear anything else -- and somehow, it is present within every part of you. That's how I feel.
A year ago, I got ready to move to Auburn. In January, Rachael and I moved here, and I began praying desperately for God to bring a friend into my life. To be honest, I began praying for that two year ago, probably. Someone who would share my joys and struggles, who I felt comfortable with because they wore their brokenness in the same way I did. I guess I've felt I can only trust someone with my brokenness if they are obviously as broken as I am. In March, we went to a small group in Federal Way. A gal named Cindy invited us. That Tuesday night I met Vinnie. Though I didn't know it at the time, Vinnie was the answer to my prayer. We went back to that small group because of Vinnie. Because of his hugeness (was he 6'4"?) of body and heart. We went back because of his curly blond 'fro. We went back because we sense in him a fellow wounded healer.
It was August before I realized that Vinnie was the brother I was looking for. We didn't decide to start meeting weekly until about a month and a half ago.
The greatest hope in my life came from the realization that I finally had a friend, someone I trusted and felt more comfortable with than anyone I've talked to for a long time. I had a best friend.
We met the first Monday in November. Then we had trouble getting together the next week, but we finally did get together again on November 16th. We had coffee and a really good talk. I was struggling with my own sinful habits. He was struggling with overcommitment and burnout. We prayed for each other and showed each other the grace of God.
The following Tuesday, the 22nd, he came to our small group again. He was still tired, but he was making progress and stepping back from some things. I loved this man. We shared communion, the Lord's supper, a holy moment, together as a group and then he left. I think it was about 9:30pm. That was the last I ever saw my best friend. On Thursday, he killed himself with a gun.
When he died, I feel I died as well. How long until I come alive?
I've never hurt more deeply than I have this week. Tears on Monday and Tuesday gave way again to anger and numbness on Wednesday and Thursday. The last few days I've traveled so far up and down that I have emotional vertigo and my plan is going down in the clouds.
I laughed this morning. That's something. I'm thankful I can still laugh. You know, I think that I can do everything I could do before, except for one thing: live. Living is the impossible thing for me. I have to busy myself so that I don't think, because thinking hurts. Whenever my mind wanders, it goes back to the same place-- and I wonder what that place is, because it feels as close to hell as anything I've known. And hell is not fire and sharp pains of burning flesh. Hell is when the pain is so deep and so strong that you cannot feel it, you only know it's presence by the absence of everything else. It's like when you listen to really deep bass -- you don't hear it, but you know it because you cannot hear anything else -- and somehow, it is present within every part of you. That's how I feel.
A year ago, I got ready to move to Auburn. In January, Rachael and I moved here, and I began praying desperately for God to bring a friend into my life. To be honest, I began praying for that two year ago, probably. Someone who would share my joys and struggles, who I felt comfortable with because they wore their brokenness in the same way I did. I guess I've felt I can only trust someone with my brokenness if they are obviously as broken as I am. In March, we went to a small group in Federal Way. A gal named Cindy invited us. That Tuesday night I met Vinnie. Though I didn't know it at the time, Vinnie was the answer to my prayer. We went back to that small group because of Vinnie. Because of his hugeness (was he 6'4"?) of body and heart. We went back because of his curly blond 'fro. We went back because we sense in him a fellow wounded healer.
It was August before I realized that Vinnie was the brother I was looking for. We didn't decide to start meeting weekly until about a month and a half ago.
The greatest hope in my life came from the realization that I finally had a friend, someone I trusted and felt more comfortable with than anyone I've talked to for a long time. I had a best friend.
We met the first Monday in November. Then we had trouble getting together the next week, but we finally did get together again on November 16th. We had coffee and a really good talk. I was struggling with my own sinful habits. He was struggling with overcommitment and burnout. We prayed for each other and showed each other the grace of God.
The following Tuesday, the 22nd, he came to our small group again. He was still tired, but he was making progress and stepping back from some things. I loved this man. We shared communion, the Lord's supper, a holy moment, together as a group and then he left. I think it was about 9:30pm. That was the last I ever saw my best friend. On Thursday, he killed himself with a gun.
When he died, I feel I died as well. How long until I come alive?
How long, O Lord? How long?
posted by Joe P. @ 10:11 AM
2 Comments:
At 8:54 PM,
aaron said…
I don't know much at all, and I'm kinda going out on a limb, but...
Maybe when God takes something that means so much to us away, it shows us how much more passion and commitment could have been focused on him. Your quote "When he died, I feel I died as well." made me think of that. Isn't God our life? And he is still alive. then again, I am really far off from being to the point of giving everything up, so I'm probably sounding really hypocritical. you are a pastor, you know a lot more than I do, and I don't want to sound offensive or anything. Its just a thought. on the more positive side...
perhaps the world was made with so much pain so we would enjoy heaven so much better.
I want to say more, but I can't think of anything besides that lame clicheish encouragement that would probably drive you nuts. so, I'm not going to say it, but I feel it and I'm praying. Just so you know.
-Aaron
At 4:48 PM,
Whitney said…
I love you Joe. I love you so much. That's all I have to say.
~W.
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