in Tall Tales

Via Dolorosa

Whenever I have been away for awhile I find it so hard to get back in.
There is so much hurt, so much rage, so much brokenness here. Here the waters are deep and slick with blood and everywhere I look another person is drowning.
How many times will I have to jump back in?
Whenever I have been away for awhile it’s like I return to strap on a bag of rocks. A bag full of hurt that cannot be carried alone. Not that I can carry it for them, although somehow we seem to make progress together.
How many times will I have to carry that load?
I once worked alongside of an elderly woman who was full of dignity and beauty and wisdom. As I talked about these feelings she told me about friends who had worked in this field and were unable to take it. They never became calloused, they never got hard. They would go home every night and cry themselves to sleep. In the end they ended up leaving. They weren’t cut out for this work. She questioned if I was the same as them.
But I find myself wondering if this is what it means to lay down my life for those I love. Maybe that’s not just romantic language, maybe it’s a real death I experience every day. Little by little, until, one day, maybe I too will be shattered by the storm.
Whenever I have been away for awhile I find a voice inside of me that says, “You are too sensitive to carry this cross.”
But there is always another deeper voice responding, “No, you are too sensitive not to carry this cross.”

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  1. Christ was too sensitive to not carry his cross, when he called us to carry our cross, the cross was something that did eventually leave to the breaking of the one carrying it. The cross was carried, he was hung, as he hung on the cross, he cried out one last time as he died. He cried himself to sleep.