hiking in the rain
Becoming whole is not something I’ve always aspired to. In my 20’s, it was a foreign concept. In my 30’s, I began to see, through the fog, that I was somehow less than whole. And my response was to launch a sustained quest for just the right book that would, properly consumed, help me get all better. I wanted to get a handle on who I am, & make peace with it.
I discovered that becoming whole is not something one does alone. We often – left to ourselves – reason our way out of, sabotage, or run away from the very thing we need to get fixed: people. Yes, I shared my discoveries about myself with others – guardedly! – when I had the opportunity; but somehow, my journey of self-discovery remained largely a private adventure.
I soldiered on – reading self help book after self help book – largely un-fixed. No, I don’t feel like I wasted my life; I didn’t consciously, or unconsciously, pour those years down a big black hole like so much refuse. In fact, I experienced a maturing, a toughening – in a good way, I think, somehow – that comes from walking through pain alone.
By alone I don’t mean void of relationship, because I sustained & enjoyed many, both Divine & mortal. But regarding this inner brokenness, this lack of wholeness I felt viscerally – I just kept muddling along. (I remember one night – or many nights? – lying in bed saying, “God, I know you’re all I need – but it doesn’t feel like it”.)
One day something amazing happened. (It became amazing wonderful, but began amazing terrible.) I was actually sitting in the coach section of an airplane, flying over Africa, reading a book called “Hiding from Love”. Suddenly, I could so completely identify with the diagnosis (described in the title) that I was traumatized, gripped with grief, head to toe. It literally took all the self control I had to stay sitting in my seat instead of slumping down to the floor and sobbing. My loss and my grief were that real and visceral and personal.
I didn’t make a spectacle of myself, that day. (I don’t think.) But I was convinced, that day, that I needed professional help. As grace would have it, I had a temporary assignment in the U.S. coming up. (I was living & working in Africa at the time). And I found a skillful, compassionate counselor who listened well, asked good questions, & helped me grieve stuff that had long festered in my soul. It was incredibly, deliciously cathartic, those six months of counseling. Even now, years later, I can’t really describe in detail how God used Dan (my counselor) to drain the trauma from, & pour healing into, my masculine soul. But God & Dan did it, & I am very, very grateful.
So… becoming whole isn’t – at least in my experience – something we can do on our own. As Michael Dye has observed, it’s people who’ve wounded us, & it’s people we need to help heal us. Yes, God is the Giver of life & the Healer of bodies & souls. But His healing is usually mediated through others.
I’m still broken in many ways. But I’m no longer living under the delusion that if I read all the right books, I can be all great & groovy & spiritual & solid. James, in the New Testament, tells us to come to others when we’re sick, that healing comes by the power of God mediated through the faith & compassion & words of others (James 5:13-16). That’s the kind of person I needed to get beyond my trauma. (And the kind of person I want to be.)
Ever wonder why Coldplay’s “Fix You” resonates so deeply with people? I think it’s because we all hope against hope that we can become whole, that we can be fixed. And the groovy thing is, we can – by the Author of our souls – when we reach out to others, broken souls in search of healing. And – if my experience is in sync with reality & the way things work – we can become more & more whole, healed from the things that keep us from knowing love, human & divine, more fully.