In the Midst
I am looking for a savior
I can see and know and touch
One who dwells within the midst of us.
“Looking for a Savior,” United Pursuit
It was the beginning of the end, and somehow I knew it deep down in my bones.
We had been at a conference in Nashville. It was supposed to be reprieve from all the stress we had been experiencing with J.R.’s illness, but instead, he barely could attend because he was in such pain. I wheeled him on the plane in a wheelchair, to his horror, and we started the journey back home. The last thing we wanted was for him to be in a hospital in Nashville without our support system around us. When we finally made the long journey back to the Denton hospital, we assumed that he would just get some liquids and be on our way home. Well, I guess I should say that I assumed. As I parked and began to get out of the car, he gently grabbed my arm. “Just one second.” He looked at me with aching eyes, and my breath hitched a little. So we sat there in the running car for a few minutes in comfortable silence. I didn’t realize it, but he knew that was the last time he would be a free man, outside of tubes and beeping machines. He knew it. He knew it was the beginning of the end. We breathed together, with tears streaming down our faces. There were no words. “Everything will be ok,” wouldn’t work anymore, because it wasn’t going to be ok. My mantra came back to me, the one I had told myself throughout this journey during my late husband’s sickness and death:
YOU CAN DO HARD THINGS.
I swallowed hard and released his hands. “We have to go,” I said, worry heavy in my heart. As the chaos of the emergency room swarmed around me, I went into my head. When I get really stressed, I put my headphones in and wash myself in music. This song (Looking for a Savior, Will Raegan) was my go - to when times got tough. I would sit in the room while J.R. slept or walk the halls with the stressed out doctors and nurses, and watch the drama unfold in front of me, as if I was not there. It was an escape and I knew it, but sometimes it’s the only way you can cope. As I walked around, each step I said it again:
YOU CAN DO HARD THINGS.
Each step I took, to get towards those first few rows of the pew at his memorial seemed like a mile each. Are they all looking at me? Do they all feel sorry for me? So, I said it as I took each brave step forward.
YOU CAN DO HARD THINGS.
He felt so heavy as I lugged him (his ashes) around the airport so that I could lay him to rest at his home, the mountains of Colorado. I kept saying things under my breath, “I bet you love this, don’t you? Me carrying you around. You are so heavy! Stop laughing!” I thought I had come so far with my grief, yet there I was in the middle of the airport crying softly, people looking at me curiously. So I breathed the words in again.
YOU CAN DO HARD THINGS.
Embracing my full emo, no filter self whilst at the airport, carrying J.R. around.
The room was hot and sticky. I was sweating all over, each breath was thick and did not satisfy. We were not prepared for the suffering we were seeing in front of our eyes. Around 900 refugees, still pouring in as the day went on, and yet we didn’t have enough supplies to go around. As soon as they got off the bus, we could see how badly they had been treated in detention. Faces ruddy and hair unkempt, the first thing they asked for with pleading in their voices, “Pasta, por favor, pasta” as they mimicked teeth brushing with their hands. They lined up at the shoe room, families with young children, begging for shoes. Yet, there wasn’t enough. I had to turn them away unless their shoes were in tatters or they did not have shoes at all. The rebel heart I have though, I would sneak in people when the people in charge weren’t looking. I knew I wasn’t supposed to but how could I not? As I ran into the supply closet to desperately look for the size of shoes I needed for a 5 year old boy, I couldn’t find them. “DAMMIT!” I yelled, as I punched the box of mismatched shoes I was sorting through. Tears pricked my eyes as I realized how privileged I was. I was hot, tired, and frustrated, for one week. These refugees dealt with these conditions for months and years. It came to me again, this time with full force.
YOU CAN DO HARD THINGS.
So I breathed these words into existence in the middle of that cramped room, the air clinging to the walls, and I gathered my strength to face the insurmountable challenges we had ahead of us.
Pam and I in the “shoe room” at Catholic Charities in McAllen, TX, finding shoes for refugees who had just been released from detention. The room had been raided the previous night.
Beautiful One, you to have had these moments, where your back is up against the wall and you think you can’t do it. You may even look to the heavens and say it, “I can’t do this, God, I don’t have it within me.” Here’s the thing: you may not feel you have the strength, but your Divine DOES.
You can do hard things because God can. You are an extension of that divine love and presence, so even when you feel like you can’t, just rest and let God be in the midst of it all. I know I am a pastoral type, yet sometimes I run from scripture because it can often be confusing to me, this sacred literature that seems to be at the same time beautiful truth and a flawed historical document. However, Psalm 46 has always been one of my favorites for these five words: God is in the midst.
God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;
God will help it when the morning dawns.
Psalm 46: 1-3, 5
The scriptures remind us that God is in the midst. Our Divine, Emmanuel, means, “God WITH us.”
In my own personal theology, I don’t believe God dwells with us in great miracles or a grand show of God’s presence on earth, but instead, the Source of life, dwells with us through it all, in the midst. Our beloved continues to whisper in our hearts every day,
Beautiful One, You can do hard things. You are stronger than you could ever imagine.
Yet, God’s solidarity, the Divine’s “with-ness” during hard times, reminds us that we cannot do it alone. Although these short stories are glimpses of times when I had to do the hard things, they are mostly glimpses of what was happening within my own soul. Yet, I never did it alone. I said those words, breathed, and then found my partners in solidarity. My mother, waiting patiently at my late husband’s bedside, with worry in her eyes. Taylor, my punk pal, who I texted as I sat sadly in the airport, laughing at the weirdness of carrying ashes through the airport (and also getting patted down for it by security.) Pam, my friend in ministry, who was my partner at the respite center, always laughing and talking in broken Spanish with all the kids, finding joy in every little moment. God’s with-ness is an example of how we should live within the world. Richard Rohr says it a little bit better than I:
When we carry our small suffering in solidarity with the one universal longing of all humanity, it helps keep us from self-pity or self-preoccupation. We know that we are all in this together, and it as just as hard for everybody else. Almost all people are carrying a great and secret hurt, even when they don’t know it. When we make the shift to realize this, it softens the space between our overly defended hearts. It makes it hard for us to be cruel to anyone. It somehow makes us one. Some mystics even go as far to say that individual suffering doesn’t exist at all- and that there is only one suffering.
A crucified God is the dramatic symbol of the one suffering that God fully enters into with us- much more than just for us.”
(R. Rohr, The Universal Christ, 161-162)
So, my dear, what are you telling yourself today that you are too weak to deal with? That you can’t do because of X,Y, and Z?
Dear One, You can do hard things, because we are with you. Take that step towards whatever scares you. Take that breath that you need to get through the next things. Listen to the music that gives you life. Reach out to the friend who will be with you even in suffering. Even if you think you can’t do it, plunge ahead with all your doubts and insecurities still in tact. Grab your friends hand, shoot, grab your dog’s paw, and say this with me:
YOU CAN DO HARD THINGS.
I can't pretend to know
the beginning from the end
But there's beauty in the life was given
we may bless or we may curse
every twist and every turn
will we learn to know the joy of living.
