I Walked Off A Bridge Today

Catching Up

I walked off the end of a bridge today.  I made it look easy.  People were rubbing shoulders with me - one of them said that he had been told he couldn't hug the female coworkers, so now he goes up to them and puts his shoulder hard against the females side arm at the shoulder and: pushes. Really hard. And says things like, Hi Beautiful and so forth.
I think that is SO much better than hugging them, don't you?  I am sure Management is pleased.

But, as I say, people were joshing around with me and noticing how chipper and hard working I was - and then, I don't think anyone was looking at the time, I just walked off a bridge.

As I plunged down, feet first, through the strangely balmy January air - I could hear the whistling in my ears and my hair flew up in a very startled-looking way - and I just fell and fell.  It was extraordinary.

It took forever it seemed, but finally my feet sliced into cool, blue water and my legs followed and then my hips and arms and, at last, my head swooshed through the river and down and down I went.
When I finally felt the river bed beneath my feet, I pushed off at a rakish 45 degree angle and swam with the current - slightly pushing my way towards the center of the channel.  I swam for about a minute under water, then crawled to the surface for a breath, then down I went again.

In this way, I escaped Monday.

It isn't that I am particularly opposed to Mondays. They are nice days.  Usually pretty busy, workwise...though coworkers and staff tend to complain a lot.  Whining about how hard it is to come to work, and why do the weekends have to fly by like that?  I can only imagine the moaning they would do if they didn't have a job  and couldn't pay for the new car and the rent and food and some fun every now and then.

But other than that, I have nothing against Mondays.

No - rather, on Sunday my oldest daughter called me and let me know that my younger daughter had been robbed and attacked in a way I am too weary to go into. And, of course, this public place is no place to air  her private hell.

But that is why I had to walk off the bridge and swim away.  It was all very casual, and I am only now drying off and getting the sand out of my ears.  It is 9:25 pm.  And here we are - strangers...gazing into my soul a bit and wondering if we have anything in common.  Or whether we should continue to "talk".

One of the things I thought, as I breast-stroked away from the bridge, was how odd life here on this planet is. How painful and strange and often awful.  But sometimes awe-filled, too. And wonderful and inspiring and joyous.

I thought - as I have a thousand times, maybe ten thousand I have thought this- since I was very young, but old enough to ponder these things...I have thought: Why don't people just love each other? All the effort people put forth to harm one another and themselves - it is exhausting just to think about it. And I don't just mean violence like my beautiful girl just endured...but all the mean and petty things we say and think about one another.  People, really well-meaning people too, will sit around venting about how the President is so evil (maybe he is even the  Anti-Christ...). This happened just the other night after - get this - after a Bible study. And what was the Bible study about? you may ask. It was about Grace. About how our total forgiveness and loving acceptance by God is not based on anything we do or do not do - but on the amazing grace of God in the person of Jesus Christ. By His death. By His resurrection. By Him.

So I am all stoked up about how breath-taking this Jesus is and amazed for the umpteenth time about how wonderful and all that this salvation He bought is...really feeling jazzed.  And then it ends, the study, and we are dismissed and this older gent who had made some pretty good points during the study - he starts talking smack about Obama.  And others eagerly join in.

What the heck!

All this negative energy fills the room - energy that could just as easily have been spent praying for poor old President Obama.  Like the guy couldn't use some love and peace and prayers for help in time of need. You know, like the Bible TELLS us to do for our leaders.

And so on. (I wonder if my saying "and so on" is plagiarism? Kurt Vonnegut used to bridge paragraphs with that statement...it is a good way to do that).

Anyway - I am swimming along and thinking how I am just as bad being disappointed in this older gent at church rather than praying for HIM....so I do that for a couple of minutes when BAM

I swim into a floating log. Wow did that hurt.

So I turn over on my back and kick my way over to the shore - and drag myself up. And realize that one of my staff is leaning over my desk asking me a question.

What a day.

I glanced over at the bridge. Wistfully. But this time I plaster the smile on my face and ask what is up - and she tells me...and we finish work and head home.

It was lovely outside. Gray - but about 72 degrees. January 28th and it is 72 degrees.

Amazing.  A little gift. And I put the hood down on the Saab my sweet Babboo gave me a few months back...and I go to Physical Therapy for my carpal tunnel hands - for the last time.  And say good-bye to Scott - a really nice, if slightly evil, physical therapist. He hinted that most PT's are kind of sadistic - but that when people get better under his tortuous care, he counts it all worth while. He said it with a little half smile and twinkly blue eyes.

Then I go home and make a weirdo Mexican pizza with left over steak - and share that and some scrumptious strawberries, pineapple and bananas with my brother in law.

His name is Rick. My husband didn't feel well...I bet it was because he didn't take the time to plaster on a smile and walk off a bridge or two. He probably prayed and thought about this god-awful thing that has happened to our daughter. So he didn't want dinner.

Rick and I ate and he, as usual, entertained me with a running commentary about Mexican dishes he has known and loved during his many years as a waiter at the five-star restaurant in Cincinnati he left. Or was asked to leave. And not finding other work, got his brother, who HE HADN'T SPOKEN TO FOR ABOUT 20 YEARS, to buy him a bus ticket to come live with us until...

I am not really sure about the until part. He seems to have taken root in our lives.  And I cannot, though I am pretty good at gardening: I cannot for the life of me tell if he is a well-rooted thorny weed, or a slow-growing gallant tree.  But this I know, Jesus invited him here and it is my good fortune to find ways to love him. Sometimes I fuss at him and make sure he does most of the house work these days - the rest of the time I listen to his tales and watch him paint and feed him home cooked meals. And try to be a good sister to him. His being here at this point in our lives is another mystery...

And then I caught up with my daughter on my cell phone. And that has to suffice.

I suppose at this point I should thank God for cell phones. Or any phones, so I could at least talk to her and pray with her.  I guess I will.

Thanks God.

But my heart isn't in it and You know it.  My heart will catch up later.

Because  I didn't want to leave my kids and grandson and move here in the first place...and the church that hired us kicked us out, breaking our contract and ruining us financially... and my husband Rex then got cancer (and thank you for healing him of that and my heart is in that thank you)...and we just closed the little independent church we were trying to build for people who are returning from jail or are in recovery because (o there is too much because, we will move quickly on)...and I have wanted to go see my children so bad I have been agitated for about three weeks and nagging my poor husband...

All of that is true.  But - There is no bridge home right now. There is now way to afford that swim.  And my arms ache to hold her.

This is life, eh? We are not the answer to all her pain anyway.  I realize that. My wanting to be there is selfish.

She sounded good, for all that her heart is breaking. She sounded brave. That is what her name means, Breana - brave one.  She cried and she laughed and she said - they will not take away my joy and all the progress I have made. I will fight hard. I will keep working with Amnesty International and will keep telling women - sharing this ugly - telling them to be safe.

But she wanted to know where You were (God I mean, not anyone who sits there reading this horror of a blog with pop-eyed wonder - and why You didn't "get her back" - why You let people DO that to her (she sobbed and so did I) when she was trying to help some young girls. She admitted she had tried to be the big hero - that she should have called the police and let them meet her there...but still, she was not doing evil. She was trying to do Your will, in her own small way.

These are the things that get us, Father. These are the hurts we cannot understand.  And I give them to you.  I hope she can too. Soon. I give you my lack of understanding and the feeling of betrayal and the anger - because You seem to want that just as much as my praise and singing and praying and so on when I am happy and think I DO understand.

Maybe giving you this pain and anger is even more a show of faith. I don't know. I just know that You are the only Truth and Goodness and Peace I have ever known in my times of black despair. And based on years of experience - I come to You because there is no other God. You are it and Jesus is my bridge to your presence.

So I close this blog, and this day, by walking off that wonderful Bridge - and feel myself fall, head first, into the cool waters of Your presence and love.

Good night, Father. Please heal my little girl. Please love on my older one. And all my family and friends. And all the strangers and ones who would be my enemies. And one day, when we are face to Face - I will give you the pure love you so deserve - and that you have lent to me her - right back. Until then...

Well - just Good night, Father...please, just a Good Night.

Suz