The Dark Woods

The quiet darkness of the morning invites my soul to breath. It’s been a challenging week – but I laugh off that thought when I think to the Syrian refuges. I pray for them as my heart absorbs peace with gratitude for all I see around me.  How blessed am I sitting here in the dark awaiting the dawn.

There are dark woods behind every home.  Most people spend a lifetime (and a fortune) avoiding going into those woods as indeed scary beasts live there.  Real beasts that can kill unless Grace sweeps though and shields. Unfortunately, I was hurled deep in the woods years ago and spent a great deal of time yelling for help.  After many years the damsel finally got the memo: “No one is coming to save you -  get off your duff and start walking.”  Begrudgingly I did – but bemoaned my fate and mumbling socially accepted obscenities to the mud whilst trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.  More than once the cloak of anger and bargaining kept me warm after the sun went down.  Acceptance was a final welcome guest however. She brought along tolerance and compassion as bed slippers. Looking back, I remember the fireflies that always lit the path.  Many of them have passed over to the other side now – but their lights still linger against the backdrop. They were part of the Grace I was talking about earlier.

The dark woods will always be a part of my life even though I now sleep in a safe warm cottage in a clearing. When I first escaped, I wanted the dark woods to burn up and go away.  A natural response -  to destroy the very thing that almost destroyed me. Actually, the idea of a blow torch was pretty appealing. It was not to be however. In its place, the denial fairy paid me a nice visit. I needed her company to heal and get some balance back. But as the ebb and flow of life keeps up its grand game, It came time to ask her to leave. Out through the back window I could see a lost little fur ball heading back to the woods.  I knew I had to protect him from the haunts that go bump in the night. Don’t get me wrong, no one can recue another from the dark woods behind their home.  Got that memo the hard way. But we can be there for them. We can to wipe off the dirt, bandage their wounds and give them something to eat - a morsel of hope to sustain them for another day. When this process gets exhausting we can pick up the bible and read about our old friends. They constantly screwed up but they had a God who constantly scooped them up – even when they were biting and thrashing around a bit.

The once fragile princess is gone. A weathered warrior has taken her place decked out with designer combat boots, a companionate GPS, and some Ben Gay. I still long for the princess dress at times.  But as my friend told me a while ago as I was bemoaning this trivial point: When you die Susan, your tombstone will not read “She died a size 2.” It will read; “I met her, and she changed my life.”  Hope so. At least that is the goal for today.