An old post I stumbled across. I wrote it a number of years ago but never shared it here with you all. I’m fairly certain I originally wrote it as part of some sort of “fiction” writing challenge. As I read through it again, it became clear that it was an appropriate day after Easter piece.
Prior to finding the post again this morning, I was spending some time reading John 20 and 21. I love the scene of Jesus restoring Peter. It brought back memories of a pivotal time in my own journey when the lyrics in a song by Third Day called “Can’t Take the Pain” (a song about Peter) spoke directly to my healing heart.
“Lord, You took the pain even though I left You
And You took the shame and You made it all Your own
Why’d you take the blame for everything that I’ve done?”
There’s something incredibly humbling when your heart finally understands this Truth about Easter: an innocent man took the fall for me!
It is finished!
Lucy’s passion was to minister to others who were “there”. A decade ago she’d been there too. She saw glimpses of her own past in the stories shared every Tuesday evening. She heard it in their voices and saw it in the tears that would flow from their eyes. Tonight, it was the young lady sitting next to her. For weeks, she had been showing up to the recovery group but would never say a word.
Lucy had been leading the group for two years. It was where she belonged. This was where all the tears and all the pain from her own past made the most sense.
The pit that King David speaks about in the Psalms is a real place. Lucy could still remember hers, especially the walls. Some days those walls seemed to close in even tighter around her, so tight she couldn’t take a single breath without sharp smothering pains filling her insides. She struggled for years to climb up out of that hole but the walls were too high. She’d fallen too far down.
Instead, Lucy would spend her days retracing the steps and the choices that led her to this place. Sometimes all the thinking, all the if-onlys tormented her to the point where all she could do was curl up in a tight ball on the ground, her back pressed firmly against the cold wall, and wish, oh how she wished, she could take it all back…every wrong turn.
Lucy could also remember the instant when everything changed. The moment she knew that there was nothing left. She was too tired to climb. She was too tired to pace. She was too tired to think anymore. And despite the fear of letting it all out, of letting it all go, she opened her mouth and cried out, “I can’t stay here, help me!”
What happened next was still a memory that Lucy has a hard time putting into words. All she knew was that, at that moment, there was someone standing in that pit with her. She could feel his breath filling up all the empty spaces and taking away the fear. She could feel his strong-arm wrapped around her waist. She could hear his voice whispering words into her tired heart, it is finished. And, for the first time in years, she felt strong. For the first time in years, she knew that this darkness was not her home. Lucy had hope.
Today, there’s a joyful ache, an urgency deep down inside her that must come out. She wants others to know. She needs others to know. She’s felt the cool morning grass between her toes again. She’s felt the warm sunshine resting on her cheek like a soft winter fleece.
Lucy can’t recall how many times she’s shared her pit living experience with others…hoping, praying, that it would minister to someone.
Lucy wrapped her arm around the young girl sitting next to her tonight, pulled her in close and listened as she acknowledged between sobs.
“I can’t stay here. I need help.”
It is finished.