“To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight...”
I went dark and had some very dark days this week and last. Things fall apart, I’m rediscovering once more, when I fail to make time for reflection, recognize the need to create healthy boundaries, and pause in the midst of “doing” all the time. The further I walk in my new friends’ shoes, the more I am realizing just how dark reality is for so many. Our country does not make it easy for non-English speaking refugees, the systems that seek to help still oppress and exploit our most vulnerable members, people with the best intentions are limited, and people seem so much more capable of hurting others because they are hurting. After a meltdown or two this week, I am learning that I need to open my eyes and let them adjust to the darkness. Each angry landlord, former boss, employment agent, case worker I spoke to on the phone is frustrated and overworked, too. The company that fired four Burmese refugees is undergoing serious changes, too. The welfare officers are stressed, too. No one has extra time or extra finances to help out more, too. Each day has felt a little more bleak and a little less hopeful, I’ve noticed. But in this darkness, God provided just enough money for two friends to pay their rent and utilities for this month after they lost their jobs. And in this darkness, I see that hospitality and generosity in the midst of poverty is heartbreakingly beautiful and a picture of the kingdom. In this darkness, I discovered that I can laugh with babies and single mothers at the welfare office. In this darkness, I have found kindred spirits who are wrestling, too, with what it means to participate in Jesus’ incarnational ministry in the face of so many otherwise hopeless situations. In this darkness, I have been able to join in others’ struggles and enter new realities. Things get really messy when we care. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot harness or control the strange force in me that causes me to care so deeply about people and their problems. So I’ll drink my tea, I’ll fill out government paperwork, I’ll read my favorite poems, I’ll meet with the caseworker, I’ll pray and I’ll cry, I’ll search for jobs, and I’ll sleep and wake in a new kind of exhaustion every day.
“And find that the dark, too, blooms and sings
And is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.”
