Flame-carriers

Last year my daughter Bailey had a tough year in school. It was just short of agony most days, and we were counting down to the last day of school fairly early. I had been sharing with my friend Anne about a specific circumstance of injustice that had happened to Bailey. She was a good listener and kind about the story. And then, a few weeks later, Anne pulled me aside. She told me she had been chewing on Bailey's story and wanted to tell me one of her own. She recalled being a child and being wrongly accused of something. She was called into the principal's office to defend herself. She could still articulate how that experience felt and how strongly it had affected her.

Anne is now an attorney. She said that one experience that was so difficult had really affected her, and later in law school she had found that experience to be a sculpting one on her journey. She knew in those moments that she wanted to help people in situations where they could not help themselves, where they had been wrongly accused, where they needed another voice to advocate them. The story from childhood had helped direct her adult path.

Anne encouraged me to seek the silver lining of Bailey's tough year. As painful as it was, and as glad as we are to have it behind us, Anne saw the wisdom to know that these aches of injustice might greatly affect Bailey's life - and perhaps even in some positive way - somewhere - at some time - down the line. Not then at that moment - but there was hope, according to Anne, that all might be well.

I was thinking of this story again this week because my friend Joe reached out to me in a place of injustice I carry with me. A painful thing happened to me some years ago now that was ridiculous from every angle. It was at its worst a time that dignity was not extended to me. There was no constructive aspect to the situation, no direction for growth, no real kindness offered. It affected me deeply, and continues to be part of my psyche. I don't get to talk to Joe too often, but I saw him this week in one of my classes. He reminded me of my own story and said how wrong he felt that experience was. He brought it up, he said his peace, he expressed his concern (both for me and the system), he made me laugh - and best of all, Joe gave me hope again.

When hope flutters in your heart, in a spot where it hasn't visited in a long time, it will melt your insides. Those hardened places grow softer, if only a little. You recognize how hard the wall of bricks has been built, especially if you carry the pain alone. Hope will light a torch for you and you'll see shadows on the wall of other flame-carriers. Things just don't feel so lonely anymore when someone else shows up offering a kindred spirit, a recognition of wrong doing, an offer to stand with you.

Nothing at all may come of my story - that is not at all what is important. But Anne and Joe are the ones who are shining some light in dark places. They carry their sense of injustice right alongside their tender hearts. They remind you that someone knows how you feel, or how you think.

In October last year, I went to hear Rob Bell speak with my friends Temple, Jenny, and Laura. It was delicious; his topic was on suffering and creativity and their partnership. He asked the audience to stand up if they had ever been affected by cancer - you didn't have to have had it yourself, but had been affected by it in your life. Almost everyone in the building stood up. He threw out other tough life circumstances as people stood up and sat down. Then he noted that if he had asked who among us had ever had to fire their interior designer, some would have stood, but the connection would not have been as strong (despite how frustrating the interior designer was) as those who had deeply suffered by loss, illness, broken relationships, and grief. He asked members of the audience to write with their less dominant hand on an index card, "I know how you feel." Those cards passed through the group and the card you took home - well, who knew who had written it? But I keep it in a place I can see it - a place where I can remember that I am not alone, that there are others who know how I feel, that there are needs I can meet, that I deserve dignity and respect.

There is pain and suffering in the world - maybe even in your own house, or your own heart. It can be tended by you - and it can be tended by other flame-carriers - so that you don't have to feel alone. There are voices that will help advocate for you. I am so grateful for those who have spoken for me in circumstances where my own voice was not effective. I am so grateful for those who stand up for others who feel broken hearted, scared, raw, unwell.

Your voice is needed. Your life is so very valuable. There are always safe places if only you seek them. There are those who will stand beside you. Look around. There may be silver lining in those dark and drab places - and there may not. But - you do not have to go it alone. Amen.

In Wisdom,
Brandi Calhoun Diamond