Grace is given to heal the spiritually sick, not to decorate spiritual heroes.— Martin Luther
It’s no huge secret that things have been, well, intolerable for about 99% of the past 216 hours, and they are not getting any better. Well, that’s not entirely true. The waves of remarkable pain and confusion and fear keep rolling in, and with each turn of the tide they are growing stronger and more forceful and I’m at the point where I’ve become almost entirely certain I will drown in a tsunami or a monsoon or some other freak phenomenon. What’s getting better is that I’m putting together a string of these intolerable days and realizing that, well, I’m not dead yet.
Today, I have my friends to thank for my not standing in the middle of Lincoln Avenue and letting the #11 bus “accidentally” smush me. From A., V., and L. (who talked me through the day on Gmail chat) to M.’s text messages, I felt as though I could let go for a little while of trying to keep myself alive and a whole bunch of other people could worry about that whole I don’t have the will to live anymore nonsense. And I am most grateful for R., who jump-started an email thread on the hip mama list entitled Nice things about A., in which mama after mama added the things they like best about me. On one level, it just made me more sad — thinking of how much people love me and how highly they think of me when I can barely love myself — but on another it was the deepest and most meaningful of instance of grace in my life so far.
I’m still not okay — far from it, actually. But I guess somehow that, in itself, is okay. There are people — in and out of the program — who can heal my spiritual sickness when I feel least able to do so myself. I have to believe that one day things will get better (and I am taking steps to help that process along). I have absolutely no clue how or when that will happen, but I have faith that it will. And, hot damn, I love my friends.