Here I am.
I’m not really even sure I want to be here, but I knew something was missing when I stopped showing up in this place.
It all just gets to be too much sometimes. Sometimes we have to stop and slide into the shadows. Sometimes we have to hide, or wait – I’m not certain which one is the right word. Are we hiding? Or maybe we just sense in our spirits it’s time to stop and… wait.
Sometimes when we stop, even for a moment, we find that another moment comes along – and passes. And before we know it time keeps going and going, and we wonder how we ended up this far down the road.
The phone rang. I saw his name on the caller ID and I knew a little bit how the conversation would go. His voice has become gravelled with time. In his voice I can still hear the voice that welcomed me into the world. I can still hear the voice I remember from all the days that have slipped into memory – the one who whispered warnings or laughed at the dinner table. The one who snapped for silence after a long day’s work. The voice who told me I could even when I thought I couldn’t. The one I really didn’t know very well – until I became a parent myself.
I answered though I knew the news would likely not be good. These conversations go this way when there’s only one of the pair who can remember anymore. This is what happens when the memories start slipping away, and there is only one left trying to keep them alive.
It’s getting very hard. I don’t know what to do.
And the voice is 3000 miles away. And I feel – helpless. And here I am.
The phone again. And the caller ID. Sometimes you know it’s your voice that needs to speak truth to lift a falling soul. But, sometimes all we need to be is the ear on the other end of the line. No words. No words can come in to bridge the gap between broken and whole. Just an ear to funnel the flowing words until they come out the other side – and, then, we can see. The breath of air on the other side becomes suddenly clear. And all we have to do is… listen.
I listened to her voice break time and again. The ebb and flow of an aching heart racing to the shore, and just as quickly retreating to this sea of confusion and chaos and questions. And sometimes we find ourselves drowning in it.
The words swirled around us, until they gathered in the storm cloud over our heads – and fell. Feeling like hail, until the relief of releasing every last fear and ache became a soothing rain – washing it all away. Sometimes we just have to be the umbrella in the storm. We let the downpour ricochet off our backs while we cover this soul seeking a break from the stinging rain.
It’s so hard. I don’t know what to do.
The pain and the words sometimes pelt us, but if we stand still long enough – we’ll see the sun break through the clouds.
The voice is 3000 miles away. And I hug the phone tighter. And here I am.
The phone. He walked into the other room and I drifted behind him. You can just tell, can’t you? When that voice you know so well changes its tone, and the light-hearted rhythm becomes a chilled whisper. I could see my warrior’s shoulders drop, and with it – my heart. I drew a deep breath and braced for the storm.
And if I never hear that diagnosis again – it’ll be too soon.
Cancer.
His eyes met mine, and sometimes you need no words.
I sank to my knees and prayed. It’s all I know to do anymore.
That voice on the phone – 3000 miles away. And here I am.
And sometimes God feels a million miles away.
The storm clouds gather around our craning necks, but here we are. Instead of standing our ground in the sand too soft to hold the weight of all of this – we kneel on the Rock.
It’s here on this Rock – under the gathering storms 3000 miles, and sometimes 3 feet, from these voices we love – we can hear the still small whisper,
Here I AM.
Revelation 3:20
Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.
