“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.”
— Henri Nouwen
I know rubble. I've seen more than a lifetime's worth of it. I have stood on sooty ground surrounded by the charred remnants of home. I have held the ashes of a body in my hands. I have laid in the hospital and felt another's life leave my body. I have heard the wails of a widow. I have received the diagnosis of another's death. I know rubble.
And here is the thing of it - so do you. Those aching inner places that you shroud in darkness because it hurts too much to expose them to light, hurts too much to risk letting someone disturb the wreckage. We guard these secret places of destruction and nurse them with hidden tears and muffled cries hoping that somehow we will find a way to escape on our own.
I have found in my wrecked places that there is nothing so disturbing as a "fixer"; inevitably, where there is rubble there is someone who will try to fix it. But sorrow will not be solved. Mourning will not be mended. Loss will not be cured. These conditions of life are not so easily changed by the words of another.
So I won't try. This blog is not a "self-help" center. It is not my attempt to impart some sage wisdom upon you. It is not a commentary on how to get through grief.
I cannot fix your rubble or tell you how to get out of it. But I can extend a warm and tender hand. I can tell you that it might not be today, tomorrow or next year but as you let in hope, rescue will surely follow.
It is not an accident that "Rubble & Rescue" is shortened to R&R. You know, like "Rest & Respite". Because that is what I dearly hope this place becomes for you in the midst of your messy life and rubble filled moments. A place to rest.
Dear one, stop hiding in the shadows. Let in the light. Allow yourself to be rescued.