At A Distance

 Blackout poetry is so fascinating to me.

Sometimes the page gives simple, straightforward advice like, “Hug people tight.”

Other times it gives more challenging, abstract wisdom like, “All we can do is wait. Holding out is more powerful than giving in to wrong.”

Sometimes the page radiates peace: “God is in the music.”

Other times it screams in agony: “She was gone. No longer there. Swept into darkness, nothingness. They were completely alone.”

 

Today’s page was one that spoke in quiet sadness: “Our daily lives were painful. So we kept conversation light. We were learning to live our lives at a distance.”

I know of many whose daily lives are painful—

Literally and figuratively.

I know of sickness and disease,

Strained relationships and divorce,

Unfavorable working conditions and unemployment,

Neglect and abuse.

And yet we keep conversation light because it’s too difficult to dive into the depths of hurt.

Diving into the pain causes more pain.

And who has the time and willpower to suffer pain upon pain?

And so we learn to live our lives at a distance—

From one another,

From self,

From those who love us,

From God.

Because living at distance is easier than living too close.

Too close can be vulnerable

And vulnerability exposes weakness.

And who has time to be weak in a society that celebrates the strong?

 

Oh God: Help us like only you can. Give us the strength and courage to face the pain upon pain and to know that there is peace on the other side. Give us the willingness to see and be seen and to know that there is freedom in light. There are so many people who are hurting—so many people struggling just to make it through. Help us not just to make it through but rather to fully live. You have made the way for us to live life abundantly. Help us to live that life right here, right now, fully embracing it, rather than from a distance. Amen.