Posted on by She Who Rises

Will I see you again?

Someone I used to know is gone… actually two of them. A brother and sister whose mother is a longtime friend of my family. We spent a little time together as young kids and got to know each other better as teens in the new city we had all somehow migrated to. Both in their prime and with a family of their own, they left this place only a couple years apart, just like they came into it.

I hadn’t spoken to either of them in years. Yet, I am certain that running into each other would have been a joyous occasion for all of us. More than joyous.

What do you say to a mist, a vapor that was the presence of a person you once knew?

She was low key and quiet. He was a natural leader who was a whole vibe all on his own. Both were cool with everyone, a rarity.

I have vivid memories of who they were when we were young. And newer ones through the eyes of the people who have known them in the time since. She had become a nurse. He an accomplished activist. By all accounts, they had remained the same.

To say that I am sad about their departure doesn’t capture it at all. Truth be told, I am ashamed of the gap between now and then, though I know it goes both ways. Life happens. It gets in the way, and before you know it, there’s a bookend. No visible next chapter in which to run into them again. I am sorrowful for my own loss. And I’m heartbroken for the people closest to them, those who will miss them the most. But there’s more.

The day he passed, I imagined that his sister would be waiting on the other side, ready to embrace him the moment he crossed over. I saw the joy on their faces upon reuniting, but also the somber realization of all they were leaving behind. And that’s when it hit me.

Where would they be? Where will their souls, the part of them that I knew, live from now on?

They belonged to a different faith tradition. I don’t know how their beliefs may have changed or evolved over the years. In particular, I don’t know what they thought of Jesus. And that’s the part that troubles my already broken heart.

How can two people, both beautiful in so many ways and who did so much good, not end up in heaven?

My memory took me to a story Jesus told about people who won’t believe (Luke 16:19-31). He said that if they are not persuaded by Moses and the prophets, they won’t be persuaded by someone who rises from the dead. He was talking about the religious leaders of the day and the prophecies that predicted his life and sacrifice. They were stubborn in their disbelief and he knew that even his own dying on the cross and rising again wouldn’t change that.

My belief in Jesus, his words, and his sacrifice tells me that it’s possible that we won’t all be together again in the same place. The hard truth of my faith tradition says that no matter what we do in life, where we end up is based on a single thing. It’s based on a choice to believe that Jesus is who he said he is despite all of our doubts, pain, and unanswered questions. It’s a choice to believe in an eternal life with him or an eternal agony without him, however that may look.

What adds to my grief is the fact that I don’t know what they believed, and now it’s too late for me to do anything about it. I’m ashamed of my own timidity, my lack of courage, and my propensity toward distraction. I’m sorry that I didn’t at least say, ‘I want to see you again. I want you to live. So please, believe.’

I can’t say it to them now. And I won’t know the outcome of their journey until its my turn to make the trek. But, on the off chance that no-one has ever said it to you… I want you to live. So please, please, believe.

(c) creatorskind 2021-2023

Posted on by She Who Rises

Rejection

This isn’t a thanksgiving post, especially since the day has already passed (LOL). But with that said, given the week that we’ve had preparing for and welcoming, enduring or escaping family, we all have a fresh reminder that family is a trip, right? I’ve heard it said that there’s the family we’re born into and the family that we choose.  That is, our friends. No family is perfect – even those we choose. And every family comes in one of many shapes and sizes.

Even the family that we’re born into doesn’t always look like the self-contained nuclear family of black and white TV. Like me, many people are raised by a village and your “family” may share some of your DNA or none at all. In my own, bloodlines never mattered and thankfully, they still don’t. But…people are still people (who be peoplin’) and so those bruises and breaks still come along with them.  It’s an unfortunate truth that those who are closest to you can hurt you the most. It’s something from which we can never be immune.  We are often compelled to make choices around how we handle the hurt and those who do the hurting. The same is true about the bruises and breaks that we inflict on ourselves.

When I think of my experience with mental illness, and depression specifically, it seems to me to be a very selfish disease. Not selfish in the sense of being stingy, but instead, self-centered. Depression is a disease that takes our natural pre-occupation with ourselves and both perverts and expands it to the point that it can be nearly impossible to see through or around it to the other manifold aspects of life. With depression, you are always on your mind. And most often, it’s our most unflattering aspects that are the focus.

Maybe it’s the time you excused yourself from an important meeting to go to the ‘potty’ instead of the very adult restroom on your floor. Or maybe it’s the time when you spent an entire day at work and happy hour afterward with spinach between your two front teeth. Or, more seriously, the day someone you thought you knew became a predator and labeled you prey.

Somehow, whether silly or severe, each thought or memory that darts through your brain all have a common and well-traveled pathway. Those tinted visions of ineptitude, a lack of sophistication, clumsiness, gullibility, and whatever else that speeds through your brain all lead to one destination and that’s … rejection.

I find that regardless of who started the assault, because I am with myself more than anyone, the heaviest beatings come from my own hand. And believe me, no-one’s dagger is sharper than my own. Because depression underscores and magnifies the negative and is so self-focused, it can feel nearly impossible to do anything, but reject ourselves. I mean, what other conclusion could there be?

The self-rejection in my life made me want to hide from the rest of the world. I couldn’t let anyone truly get close to me, because if they did, they would see what I see and, ultimately, reject me.  What other choice could there be?

One of the things that is so remarkable to me about this faith thing is that I have never felt rejected by God. It has certainly crossed my mind that God should reject me. But I’ve never had the sense, once I started talking to God (a.k.a praying), that God would ever echo the sentiments that I had about myself.

Even as I complained and mocked myself, I never had the sense that God would agree. I didn’t feel it or see some cosmic co-sign in the heavens. Most days, I saw and felt very little beyond depression’s walls.  But after learning about God’s character, I now have a visual to go with that stillness.

It’s a facial expression that, hopefully, we’ve all seen in the eyes of someone who really loves us. It’s a look of concern.  A head tilted, angled as if to hear me better. A hand holding both cheeks and chin and brows furrowed, signaling the seriousness of the thoughts in the brain above it. And a sadness creeping into loving eyes. When I think of the days where I struggle and depression riddles my every thought, I see Jesus listening intently and then whispering, ‘My daughter, I long for you to always see yourself the way that I see you. But I’m here and ready to remind you again and again for as long as it takes.’

What about you? Do you have a visual in your mind that reflects who you know or believe God to be?  Leave a comment or shoot me an email at creatorskind@gmail.com.

©2021 Creatorskind