When I'm Not Sure How To Breathe

I’m not sure how to breathe.

There must have been some kind of mistake—

My chest was never made to be torn at like this. So many things are broken, and I don’t know how to fix them. I do not know how to fix them. My insides tie themselves in knots and knots, my chest is too tight, I am sick with it all sitting inside of me. My frail bones are trembling under the weight of this world—of shootings and explosions, us versus them, of groups being reduced to stereotypes, of black bodies lying in the streets, of voices silenced, of the tear filled and far away eyes of girls who have been violated, of the way the shoulders of the men who get away with it square up as they walk away, of the brown and dust-caked hands of refugees reaching out with stretched fingertips, only to be shoved away, of the eyes an orphan that are beginning to harden with hope lost, of betrayal, of trust broken, of cruelty, of broken relationships that evade reconciliation. Of silence when their should be outcry, of silence when their should be shouts of joy. Of the way I stumble and stumble and stumble, of the way I walk so wrong. I can’t stop staring and the mirror that’s held up in front of my face, that shows me what I dread with my whole being: I am reflected in all of it. The knowledge that I am the wounded but also the one who wounds, that I am helpless, that I am the problem rushes through my veins like thick mercury. My frail bones are trembling. They are about to break.

There’s been a mistake.

And I’m not sure how to breathe.

I cannot hold platitudes right now. Theology slips through my fingers. I could open my mouth to sing praise because you are sovereign, but I have no breath to sing. I could open my mouth to wail, because You are near to the brokenhearted, but no sound will pass my lips. I can only sit in twisting silence, softly rocking back and forth, doing my best to draw air in as evenly as I’m pushing it out, which is not evenly at all. I’m not sure how to breathe.

I close my eyes.

I bow my head.

I realize that the space around me isn’t empty: it’s moving, it’s filled with life. I feel it gather and gently wash over me. You are here. I don’t think it makes sense, but I see that You are here now. I don’t think I can pray right now.  I can’t glorify you with my words right now. I can’t form a lament to you with my lips, begging you to hear me. I can’t even yell at you right now, even as I realize you’re here.

You don’t speak, either. Your voice does not arrive booming with rage or disdain at the idiocy of your children, even as you see my blood stained hands. You don’t tell me that Your ways are higher than my ways. You don’t say that everything happens for a reason, remind me that the world is broken, that one day things will be better, so I should to keep my chin up… you don’t speak at all.

I feel You coming closer still. You are not floating in the highest of heights, you are coming to me, looking at me so intently that I can feel the concern in your gaze. I see You. I see you sitting down next to me, covered in dirt, lowering yourself into the dust. You don’t stop looking at me. I look over and my eyes meet Your, and I see that they are filled with tears. I see that You’re crying, even as I can’t, but you aren’t giving me words. All I see is tenderness. All I see is  Your own broken heart. All I see is Grace. You haven’t brought me answers or Proverbs, but You were present even before I noticed. But You are here.  

You are here, You are here, You are here. We don’t speak, but You sit with me. Another day, we might talk about “why”s.. We might talk about theology another day, about humanity, about how exactly this mess gets redeemed like You’ve said it will. Because You have said it will. You have said it’s already begun.

Love came like madness,

Poured out in blood-washed romance.

It makes no sense, but this is Grace

And I know that You are with me in this place

Here, now.

All I know is I know that You are here, now

Still my heart, let Your voice be all I hear now

Spirit breathe like the wind

Come have Your way

I have no bow to wrap this up, tidy and clear. I am a mess right now. In so many corners, this world is a mess right now. I don’t understand. I can’t understand. My heart is broken still. But you sit with me, turning towards and turning towards. You run to me, and you stay. Finally, a sentence materializes in my mind, the words of another: “Will love songs one day no longer be laments?”

“Yes,” You promise me.

“Yes.”

And I draw a breath in deeply, and exhale soft and slow.

I breathe. 

(quote by Nicholas Wolterstorff)