Water

I was talking with a friend today and she, like I was having what we girls term, "a freak out" moment. Something happens, or doesn't happen, and all of the sudden, all of our mortality falls down like a ton of brinks.

As I was talking her off the metaphorical ledge, I heard something come out of my mouth that as I said it, I was struck by the truth I didn't know I knew.

"When someone is dying of thirst, they don't care what you look like, they only see the water in your hand."

I stress about my hair, my makeup or if I am running late to work. I worry about meeting the right person, putting myself in the right places, or the career I want. I get pissed about the petty and I count calories.

But every once in a while, after staring at the face of a child that is hungry, or hearing of war in a different country, victims of hopeless situations or the pain of a bitter loss, the memories of my own pains bring a rush of perspective. While I am worrying about me, I forget that what I don't have, maybe the very things that give me the freedom to be what is more important, what someone else needs. The space that seems to echo in my mind, the memories I wish I didn't have, the ability to empathize with the helpless, the victims, the hurting, it may be just what I need.

We all want to be needed, to be more important than our waist size, our skin color, or our sunny smiles. We want to be valuable, to make something beautiful out of what seems so grey and ugly. The desire to be a part of the greater, the humanity of life, the community of love and laughter and kindness, it is innate. We are born for it. Then something happens and we lose a piece of it, then another and another until we find ourselves substituting in the superficial ways. We settle for the cheap version in great clothes, beautiful bodies, the right friends and appearances. We are lonely while surrounded and hurting while succeeding and all the while, the sinking feeling that we are missing the point, pulls at the seams.

The truth is, when I risk the most, the days I give what I know someone needs and say the things that bear just a bit of my soul, loving and encouraging, when I join the fight to believe in the hope of good, I find myself in the rhythm I have been searching for. I feel good about myself when I am giving what is truly needed, I trust myself more when I am listening to the cries of those without a voice and I see my own value when I am using my gifts to help those that really need it.

The truth is, at some point, if you have been scarred deep enough, the only thing that matters, the only thing that makes it better, the only thing that helps ease the anger, is doing the things that brings the world some meaning.

I can't do anything about my past. And some days, I want to punch a wall for how much it seems to hurt and drag me down. I look back, then forward and I wonder, how am I supposed to keep moving with all this baggage? I'm tired and stiff from scar tissue, and it just doesn't seem fair. None of it seems fair. So much promise and so little to show for it. I feel punished for being born.

And in those moments, when my head is hanging, when the face of my reality sits so heavy, when I feel the most hopeless, when I wonder if this will ever get better, ironically, that is when I feel the most peaceful. I stop running, I stop avoiding, I slow down, take a breath and deal with what is, not what I think it should be. I accept. And then, slowly, and with aching bones, I get off the floor, look out the window and know the only thing that is going to make the shitty parts of life worth it, is to fight for the good. Right now, it's not fair, and it's not okay, but, there is nothing I can do, except do everything I can do fight against this sort of pain anywhere, anytime.

I want to join the community that is fighting for the real things of life: bread for the hungry, water for the thirsty, safety for the vulnerable and rescue for the captured. And not in jolly cute BS terms, but in the real, feet to the ground, sort of ways. I think about those that have fallen victim to a lie, to evil, to the unfairness of where they were born and when, and I think "Hold on, just hold on. We are coming for you. We are coming to get you. Don't give up. Someone hears you, I promise. We're coming. Just hold on..."

No one should ever have to pay for just being brought into the world. Life should be worth more, but if the very thing that makes it worth it, is the relationships we have to each other. You can be dirty, tired, hungry and wounded, but laughing with a loved one, a touch, a word of love, they rescue in a way that keeps us sane, keeps us fighting and hoping when everything is circling the drain. But to experience that, we all have to be willing to do it. We have to be willing to sit with each other, to bring the water to make the bread. And when we do, everything else stops mattering. We have found the place we were searching for, the wounding we have felt seems to dimish just slightly, and the future is less scary, because if we can be hope for someone else, maybe there will be someone that will be willing to be hope for us.

Love can't be a limited resource, hoarded and kept close. It must be given freely, in the face of opposition and pain. It must be a weapon against all that is terrible and ugly. It will be the only thing that makes any of the pain, stress and worry worth it. If we aren't fighting for each other, we are fighting against each other and that is when our weight, our hair and our jobs became the things that send us over the edge in stress and we sacrifice what is good and true and right.

I want to bring the water, and see the light in someone's eyes. I want to see a smile of hope when there was none because somewhere, someone heard their cry, and came for them. I want to be a part of justice, not a victim to injustice.

Of course I say this as I drink my water, looking at the clock to see if I can make it to the gym. Awesome.