OVERWHELMED
You
are unaware, my love,
of
my world shredding
around
me, emotionally
hanging
in tatters from
me
like torn clothing.
Was
it pride on my part
that
kept this secret
from
you, or was it
more
bewilderment, an
uncertainty
in dealing
with
something totally
unknown,
unable to find
the
word to express what
or
what I wasn’t feeling?
Working
fifty weeks a year,
seven
days a week, with
no
days off, the proverbial
Merry-go-round
doomed
to
a continuous ride
around
and around and
around,
with no
apparent
way to depart
brings
about not the deep
abyss
of depression, but
the
absence of feeling,
a
numbness of emotion,
where
happiness, sorrow,
anger,
love are held
in
stasis, an emotional
Limbo
from whence
there
is no escape.
There
is a hidden power
in
naming someone or
something,
library
search
and research
bestows
that power
to
me. Burnout, the
parasitic
creature that
attaches
itself to the
souls
of those
dedicating
their lives
in
service to others.
To
name is but one
step,
but to address
it
by name and cure it,
comes
not so easy.
Weighed
down with this
burden
I begin my
drive
from home, forty-five
miles
separate the college
seminary
from our home.
As
I pass through pastoral
settings
of rural countryside,
fields
of corn and soybeans,
alfalfa
swaying in the breeze,
cows
grazing in pastures,
my
soul cries out to Christ
for
healing, to release
this
emotional parasite
sucking
life from my spirit.
Suddenly
the blue skies,
dazzling
with the sunlight
of
the day give way
to
a void, black as night,
a
fierce wind buffeting
me
about, the only thing
preventing
me being
flung
into the darkness,
my
right hand grasping
a
piece of white cloth,
the
hem of a garment.
I
look up and see the
face
of the victorious
Crucified,
He who in
dying,
lived. His face
radiant
with peace,
healed
from injury.
He
smiles, his right arm
descending
in an arc,
and
bending over
grasps
my right wrist
and
pulls me up not
over
his body, but
directly into his body,
himself
becomes myself,
his
hand, my hand,
his
heart, my heart,
our
eyes look around
the
dark void and see
all
these people
desperately
clinging
to
the hem of our alb.
We
smile reassuringly
at
them, their faces
scarred,
and scared,
and
startled as our
arm
descends in a
graceful
arc, our hand
grasps
their wrists,
and
one by one,
we
pull them up
within
ourself.
The
darkness leaves
as
quickly as it came,
the
bright blue sky
dazzling
with sunlight
returns
once more.
I
find myself on the
freeway,
not knowing
how
I traveled safely
the
miles of winding
rural
county roads.
Surprised
more so
than
bewildered,
I
search my soul and
find
the numbness
of
Burnout replaced
with
gratitude. Tears
fill
my eyes knowing
the
healing that
happened
in that
dark,
wind-torn place
alone
with my God.
And
then suddenly
I
knew, I knew what
I
would be doing
the
rest of my life.
©
2015. The Book Of Ruth, Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.
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