Life is hard. We need each other. This weekend I was reminded why.

My Weekend

I pulled on my coat and braced myself against the Friday early morning cold. My true southern blood, after a little more than 17 years, has yet to acclimate. “It’s a short walk,” I say to myself, trying to validate my lazy bent toward not dressing in enough layers or ever wearing the right weight of outerwear.

That morning, in my hustle toward warmth, I saw the newly hung sign on the top floor of the parking deck. It says “You Matter – We care about you. Please make the call”. Below the statement, emergency resources and the number for a suicide prevention lifeline are listed. The week prior a young man ended his life by jumping from the top of the adjacent parking deck, the second suicide on campus in a week’s time.

The sign occupied my thoughts all weekend. It felt to me like desperation on the part of the university. Are there now signs affixed to all the high places? My inner cynic questioned. Was it done so if it happens again they can shrug and say, “Well, there was a sign”?

The placing of the sign feels like waving a giant white flag at the darkness that works hard to whittle away at people. I could not shake the sadness. I do appreciate that the university does what it can to make sure people have resources for help with mental health issues. An additional effort was made by hanging the signs. I can hope that another person, faculty or staff member, student, or campus visitor struggling in secret will see it and the sign will serve as the right help at just the right time. I am willing to hope.

I spend hour after hour, over the weekend, curled up in my recliner, cat installed at my feet. I am captivated by the story, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. The hopefulness, the sadness, the darkness… my worlds mingle. In one, children struggle and grow through war-torn France and Germany during the Second World War. In the other, current reality, children struggle and grow through a world in disarray, the pandemic- torn, politically volatile, freedom threatened now – the United States 2022.

Darkness from my own childhood shows up, a very unwelcomed guest. Old voices stir. Family secrets threaten my balance. We go to church, just like every Sunday morning. Lunch was next, our usual Mexican restaurant, followed by a women’s basketball game at the university. My mind wanders. I think of my father and a particular story he doesn’t know. I imagine telling him now. It no longer matters. Ancient history. I feel the cold blade of darkness slicing at me, and I am afraid.

Sunday evening brought a congregational meeting. I went curious. I tried not to drag the swirling menagerie with me. The darkness, the sign, the ill-timed, well-written fiction – I threatened them all within an inch of their lives if they did not behave, just like my own mother used to do. We are at church. We smile, nod, and sing sweetly. We do not act like heathens and we do not stick our used gum under the seat. Got it? Good! Now hop to, we have big smiles to share and hands to shake. I walked in confident but could hear snickering in the ranks.

I stood there, exhausted from my internal struggle, listened to the music, and heard all the updates. No matter how hard I tried to be happy, I was not. Prayer time was held at the end of the service. By then, on a scale of 1-10, I am at about 500 miserable. I consider sneaking out. I stay more out of duty than want to. I text my counselor to see if she is available the next day. As I looked up from my phone, two friends are headed up the aisle looking straight at me.

God knows. My heart grins. I confess to them I am struggling. I stand there with tears streaming down both sides of my face while they pray the sweetest prayers for me. The service ends right after that. I return home to my recliner, cat, and novel. Exhaustion grips me tight, but I also feel at peace. I feel seen and loved by my friends and especially loved by God.

That was my weekend.

Surviving The Mess

I found a new author last week. Below is an excerpt from one of her blog posts.

Shannan Martin – Year 4.5 – the Look of Life, 2017 Blog

But I have wonderful news – we were not called to comfort. We weren’t called to be unshakable portraits of courage or calm. We were not intended to self-soothe with warm messages of false pride and emotional placidity. We were not made to be happy. And we sure weren’t made for small talk.

We were made for the mess, that ridiculous mixture of suffering and gladness, that disquieting blend of love and grit that stresses us out and raises us up. This is our birthright.

Shannan’s words are so true. We try to have it all together, don’t we? My weekend was gross. I had a rough couple of days. Expecting to be happy and the picture of stability all the time is an unreal expectation. We are born into duality. We get both good and bad in differing degrees on a daily basis. The question is, how do we survive the mess?

Arguing faith, religion, politics, etc. has never been the goal of my writing. I do, however, want you to know that God is real and living, the Bible is true, and a life of faith in God is how I survive, especially when life hurts. The darkness has been conquered. Sometimes, I just need reminding.

John 16:33 (CSB) Jesus says, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world.”

Why Share

I have to tell you. Writing all these words was hard for me. Do you ever wonder, who cares? On Sunday I stood there bleeding out emotionally but hiding it because of pride. Have you ever done that? I felt like a big Faker McFakerson. I hid anyway. In that moment I did not think anyone would care.

The thing I have thought most about for months now is people’s stories. We are so much more than what can be seen. I cannot help but believe that hiding in all the things we do not talk about are the very keys that may help rescue another person. When we are honest, we give others permission to do the same. We grow trust and respect in the process.

A brave friend shared struggles with depression last week. She said she looks around and it seems everyone else is fine. She assumed that no one she knew could understand. She thought that because we all hide. Too often, in my opinion, we are not honest with ourselves or anyone else. It’s a problem.  

I decided to write about how a simple sign knocked me off my “I’m okay” pedestal and made me miserable all weekend because that is how real life works. The strangest things trigger messiness for us. It is okay for people to recognize that in each other. For me, it was a sign. For you, it may be a random word, crowds, dog hair… anything. Being triggered and funky doesn’t mean any of us are crazy. It just means we are triggered. We can help each other out.

In my moment of pain, God moved two friends into the church aisle and pointed them at me. He cares for us in lots of different ways. So much of the time he uses people. Sometimes we need rescuing and other times we are the rescuers. It isn’t either-or, it’s both-and.

Has God used you in the midst of someone else’s pain? Can you think of a time when hiding caused you to be in pain longer than necessary? Let’s pay attention to ourselves and others.