My journey towards healing was like a long distance race across the country. I found myself at the starting line with my friends beside me. They were full of encouragement, “We will stand with you and help you along the way.”  Their job was simple; all they had to do was drive beside me, occasionally handing out water and food to help sustain me, as I ran this race to healing.

        After many days, through treacherous mountains and deep valleys, my friends got tired of driving so slow.  They loved me very much but they were no longer as enthusiastic as they once were.

        Within the first few weeks my feet had developed blisters and they began to bleed. I often cried out in pain.  My friends felt helpless.  They wanted to make the pain stop, but there was nothing they could do.  It was so hard for them to see me in such pain that they soon began to drive ahead and wait for me. When I reached them they’d throw out words like, “You’re going to make it, look how far you’ve come.” Or “You made it through yesterday so you can make it today too.”  This helps comfort them because they feel so frustrated and useless.

        I continue running this race, longing for their company.  There was a time at the beginning when I was able to look over and see them in their car encouraging me with a smile, a wave and a look that said, “I’m with you.”  Now I only catch a glimpse of them every ten miles or so. Even when I do see them, they don’t want to hear how I tripped on a tree stump and tore open my knee, or how the wind blew a branch down and hit me in the head-causing me to lose three days of travel.

        When they see me they want a smile and a good report. “Praise God I am still going ahead.” I even begin to fear talking to them, not wanting them to feel bad and go away sooner.  So I try to report anything that might be positive (Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do –Think of whatever is “lovely”).  “I saw a squirrel carrying nuts yesterday” or “You should have seen the beautiful rainbow in the sky after that huge thunderstorm.”  Of course I don’t talk about how I was drenched and now I have a cold and am running a fever. No, I must avoid anything negative. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable and therefore force them to leave sooner than they are going to.

        Yet, no matter how hard I try, pretty soon my face and hands have become so filthy and my legs and feet so blistered and bloody that my friends can’t stand to look at me.

        They love me, yes, but to watch me in so much pain is far too difficult for them.  They leave me my supplies of water and food along the side of the road along with more platitudes, “God is the only one who can help you anyway.”  They drive on and wait for me at the finish line.

        Yes, they are my friends. They haven’t really abandoned me (they are waiting for me to finish the race to healing, aren’t they?)  Then why do I feel so abandoned and like I am running alone.

        Can’t they see that I didn’t need them to heal me or fix me, I just wanted them to accompany me on my journey.  It has to be easier to drive along beside me than it is to be me and run this race.  But I can’t take the easy way out like they can.  I must run and keep running if I ever want to find my way to freedom and healing.

        -Lord, please bring me those who will drive beside me. Those who I can cry in front of when the pain is too hard: without fear that they will drive off because they don’t know what to do.                                                                                                                   1/2/2000