Breaking Silence:
"Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph." - Haile Selassie
I opened the drawer to file some music and it was like I had just stepped out of some type of suspended dream state or something. I’m not sure how to explain it. It must be similar to someone shooting a person in a blind rage and wondering how the gun got in their hand. Or maybe opening the door to the room of a loved one who died for the first time. And I get that, I do, but this came from nowhere and it caught me by surprise. It was only a drawer full of folders and music. So why the moment?
I had a heck of a year. I’m still spiritually sifting through the wreckage of it all. I must have shut down parts of myself in the process without realizing it. Parts of myself that I silenced until I could deal with them. I have opened that drawer more than once without pause, but this time it was different.
I grabbed the folder labeled worship. It felt a bit like a well-worn Bible. I decided to pan through the pages. Pages full of sermon texts, rehearsal schedules, tech sheets of services I had planned last year and several sermon outlines a friend of mine had written. There were set lists from concerts I had done with some of the people I love most in my life and various other reminders of what I had been spending my days and nights pursuing. I had placed this folder and others like it, in this drawer the night I moved my things home from MPCC. I had an embarrassing amount of boxes filled with things collected during my years there and in the midst of a normally busy Christmas season as well as the not-so-normal circumstances I think I must have been a bit in a fog during the whole process.
When Kevin and I argue it usually lasts as long as the conversation, but sometimes it requires a day or two of relative silence until someone breaks the streak. That happened to me right after I had been in that drawer. Otherwise I might not have noticed, that as 48 hours of withheld information began streaming, from one insignificant question about home maintenance, and restored “normal” like someone had left their finger on the pause button or something, that’s how it felt when I opened that drawer. Like it should have had some bulletin saying “we now return to the program already in progress”. I was a bit pissed. Like, what did I miss? What have I walked through, motion-by-motion, breath-by-breath and will never reclaim? How many thoughts did Kevin try to share with me and my mind was across town wondering what to do? How many times did my daughter, my sister or my dad need me and I wasn’t paying attention? How many opportunities did I have to listen to somebody but I couldn’t invest anymore of my heart?
I know for sure the countless hours spent worrying, mourning, praying, screaming, seeking, discussing, reading, searching and pleading could have been invested in something else and I could spend the rest of my life second guessing it all. But I also know for sure that there are times we are not afforded that luxury.
There are times worth the sacrifice, worth the risk and worth breaking the silence. It appears it knocked the wind out of me temporarily, that it put some things on hold and that I may not have completely recovered like I thought I had. But I know who I am like never before and I think spring smells bluer and greener than it ever did before. I didn’t hide behind an anonymous wall and hurl stones when no one was looking. I was not silent. I was brave. I was true to my soul.
It’s quiet and peaceful down deep in the sand and seems to eliminate the risk of seeing things we don’t want to see, hearing things we don’t want to hear, and knowing things…we don’t want to know. But it’s like keeping yourself locked in a drawer for months, while bolder souls do the real living. This life I have stings a bit from time to time but I’d rather feel that burn than live with sand in my mouth, and eventually the silence breaks you, makes you someone you never wanted to be.
So when I hear that a young preacher is on his way to the life God has purposed for him and see the ashes of his journey being turned into the beauty that’s before him I have peace. And when I see the maturity and depth this has borne in a balding pilgrim who defined himself and his calling by a Colorado mountain stream I have joy. And when I watch a wounded friend start believing in herself again and finding a ministry among brake pads and motor oil, I have hope. And when I have felt the unconditional support and encouragement of family and friends who never stopped believing in me or in my heart I have much love.
There were missed moments sacrificed along the way, of that I’m sure. Significant portions of hearts that paid the cost, passions that were a bit beaten up and dreams that fell apart. But we chose the only path that didn’t ask us to live a lie, turn the other way and trade integrity for keeping the peace. There will be more songs to sing, more plans and dreams, more pages to add to that folder. For now, it is enough to know that when I'm ready to sing them, I have a voice and am not afraid to use it.
I had a heck of a year. I’m still spiritually sifting through the wreckage of it all. I must have shut down parts of myself in the process without realizing it. Parts of myself that I silenced until I could deal with them. I have opened that drawer more than once without pause, but this time it was different.
I grabbed the folder labeled worship. It felt a bit like a well-worn Bible. I decided to pan through the pages. Pages full of sermon texts, rehearsal schedules, tech sheets of services I had planned last year and several sermon outlines a friend of mine had written. There were set lists from concerts I had done with some of the people I love most in my life and various other reminders of what I had been spending my days and nights pursuing. I had placed this folder and others like it, in this drawer the night I moved my things home from MPCC. I had an embarrassing amount of boxes filled with things collected during my years there and in the midst of a normally busy Christmas season as well as the not-so-normal circumstances I think I must have been a bit in a fog during the whole process.
When Kevin and I argue it usually lasts as long as the conversation, but sometimes it requires a day or two of relative silence until someone breaks the streak. That happened to me right after I had been in that drawer. Otherwise I might not have noticed, that as 48 hours of withheld information began streaming, from one insignificant question about home maintenance, and restored “normal” like someone had left their finger on the pause button or something, that’s how it felt when I opened that drawer. Like it should have had some bulletin saying “we now return to the program already in progress”. I was a bit pissed. Like, what did I miss? What have I walked through, motion-by-motion, breath-by-breath and will never reclaim? How many thoughts did Kevin try to share with me and my mind was across town wondering what to do? How many times did my daughter, my sister or my dad need me and I wasn’t paying attention? How many opportunities did I have to listen to somebody but I couldn’t invest anymore of my heart?
I know for sure the countless hours spent worrying, mourning, praying, screaming, seeking, discussing, reading, searching and pleading could have been invested in something else and I could spend the rest of my life second guessing it all. But I also know for sure that there are times we are not afforded that luxury.
There are times worth the sacrifice, worth the risk and worth breaking the silence. It appears it knocked the wind out of me temporarily, that it put some things on hold and that I may not have completely recovered like I thought I had. But I know who I am like never before and I think spring smells bluer and greener than it ever did before. I didn’t hide behind an anonymous wall and hurl stones when no one was looking. I was not silent. I was brave. I was true to my soul.
It’s quiet and peaceful down deep in the sand and seems to eliminate the risk of seeing things we don’t want to see, hearing things we don’t want to hear, and knowing things…we don’t want to know. But it’s like keeping yourself locked in a drawer for months, while bolder souls do the real living. This life I have stings a bit from time to time but I’d rather feel that burn than live with sand in my mouth, and eventually the silence breaks you, makes you someone you never wanted to be.
So when I hear that a young preacher is on his way to the life God has purposed for him and see the ashes of his journey being turned into the beauty that’s before him I have peace. And when I see the maturity and depth this has borne in a balding pilgrim who defined himself and his calling by a Colorado mountain stream I have joy. And when I watch a wounded friend start believing in herself again and finding a ministry among brake pads and motor oil, I have hope. And when I have felt the unconditional support and encouragement of family and friends who never stopped believing in me or in my heart I have much love.
There were missed moments sacrificed along the way, of that I’m sure. Significant portions of hearts that paid the cost, passions that were a bit beaten up and dreams that fell apart. But we chose the only path that didn’t ask us to live a lie, turn the other way and trade integrity for keeping the peace. There will be more songs to sing, more plans and dreams, more pages to add to that folder. For now, it is enough to know that when I'm ready to sing them, I have a voice and am not afraid to use it.
"When I tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do." -William Blake
posted by ret at 1:54 PM
5 Comments:
It appears that when life is broken by tragedy, God shines through the breach.
George A. Buttrick
ps - Happy belated birthday - you have been in my prayers and on my mind very much these past few days while I sit on my mower. I love you "Ret". God Bless you-deby
Thanks Deby. Must be working...I think new life is poking through the cracks as we speak...love you too.
okay - I found your comment and need to ask - why are you checking out my butt???? Because it's too large to miss, said the fat lady with all the mowers.
Ahhh my friend. If I could cry I probably would have. Too often I wish people knew that I have been with you guys all along. I admit I have some sand left in my teeth and some days I about spit it out. You stood and you should be proud. "We" all had something special and sometimes I regret leaving quietly but we all do things in our own way. He makes all things beautiful...even us! Much love your direction.
Love you Gil.
And I want you to know that your calls to me were God things, always coming just when I needed them. I cried for a while after we would talk but the strength and maturity in your words and the hope in your voice each time meant the world to me and always will. You're a good friend and I'm quite proud of who you are.
Post a Comment
<< Home