I haven't written since July. And how fitting that my last reflection reads with such heaviness and stuckness. The Day of Darkness were long. Waiting, miserably; therapizing, endlessly; suffering. I would grieve one thing to lose another. The biggest black holes were the losses left nameless. Physically, spiritually, emotionally I felt as a vapor. I spoke to people through an invisible triple pane window. Even now I realize just how sick and traumatized I was.
During this time, I wrote a devotional entry for the seminary student handbook at the request of a colleague and friend. It is the story of a paraplegic man whose friends carry him on a mat to Jesus. (Does a hole in a roof ring a bell?). Because of their, (as in the friends'), belief, the man was healed.
And, during the Days of Darkness, it was my friends, (including my family who are the dearest of friends), bold belief that, I think quite literally, kept me alive. I was carried to Light.
If I started to name the ways, I would be typing until morning. How appropriate.
"...and you will know them by their love..."