Tuesday, January 12, 2010

solidarity

i sat in front of my computer for 3 hours today watching the cursor blink over and over... and over again, taunting me in a blank stare as if to say, "i dare you." hands hovered over the keys i couldn't make the first strike. i couldn't move. i couldn't breathe. the silence in the house was deafening, or was that the organized chaos of thoughts running through my head? extremely frustrated and full of rage for my lack of ability to simply type coherent sentences of what i was feeling i knew i had to move and move quickly. it was a choice to take action. i chose to drive. 

not knowing where i was going i started driving down 280 at 5 o'clock. i found myself headed towards a collection of old memories. driving through columbiana and on towards lay lake my thoughts started drifting to another time and another place. all the buildings have changed but i can remember how everything used to be. once a playground with teeter totters and swings now stands a new addition to a church. the dairy queen we frequented on our way to or from the lake is completely gone. not having been to our old stomping grounds in about ten years i wasn't quite sure that i would be able to find it. but not too much later i drove to what once was our family retreat. the trailer was gone but the dock on the water still the same. 

a little scared to be at a random spot in the woods by myself in the dark i hesitantly stepped out of the car and walked down the rotting wooden stairs to the dock that has been wasting away for years. i stood for a while taking in the scenery. looking from the tall silent trees across the water to the smooth murky pool below and then to the slats of wood directly beneath my feet... splintered, worn, tired and beaten by the elements over the past 30 years. i laid down with my back to the boards feeling one with the dock because my insides matched it's gnarly appearance. watching the stars through my heated breath rising in the night air i allowed my mind to drift back to moments in my childhood i rarely let myself go. i don't know how long i was lying there with cold tears streaming down my face before i was jerked back in to reality by some creature rummaging around. i jumped up, keenly aware that i was utterly alone as my surroundings started to frighten me a bit. i began thinking of ridiculous scenarios that could play out. like, getting attacked by an alligator or shark. really, shannon, a shark??? but jaws has forever filled me with nonsensical anxiety around any body of water. then, fully freaked out, i ran to the top of the stairs and took a few seconds to gather my obviously defected mental clarity. 

in those moments it was clear to me that i could not go back to that spot again. that chapter of my life had closed a long time ago. over the years i have adequately grieved the loss of the family i see in glimpses of the past. it reminded me of a time in my early 20's going back to the neighborhood where the abuse began, standing on the rocky shoreline of the creek i used to play in. there i wept for the childhood that was stolen from me. and tonight, standing by the lake i said goodbye to the pain of those family memories knowing that it will never be necessary to return to that place. 

on the return trip i held out my hand to jesus asking him to take it, guide me and walk with me every step of the way. in a quiet whisper i felt him ask me if i trusted him. i said, no, i don't trust you but i desperately want to. i began praying, which i realized i had not done in quite some time. at least not for myself. i repented and kept holding out my hand, as if he were holding it, all the way home. 

over the past 5 months i have stood on the ground of a different shore. the earth solid beneath my feet. but the past week has shaken the solidarity i thought had been established in my thought patterns. i am terrified of shifting in to the death grip of satan again. come lord jesus. guard my heart. fight for me as i fight for myself. 

1 comment:

Em said...

I'm glad you're blogging and that I can pray for you. I love you and Jesus loves you more.