Why I Hope it Never Gets Easier

"Cause even the stars they burn, some even fall to the earth, we've got a lot to learn, but God knows we're worth it." ~Jason Mraz

I haven't blogged in a really long time. I started this blog in law school for the girls I mentored, and it was a joy to write to encourage them. This is perhaps the rawest blog I've written, but it's all true.

9/17/15

When Ashley died in May of 2011, people told me "it will get easier with time."
At first, I was really offended by that comment. I thought it was harsh & unfeeling for anyone to say that my heart would be less affected by grief as time passed. I found myself hoping it was true, and praying it wasn't at the same time.
Two and a half years later I was shaken again when someone I love dearly lost her pastor husband to suicide.  I wrestled with it incredibly and was told the same thing... "It gets easier with time."

 The day before I turned 21 the air was crisp and chilly & I stepped into the car of someone I would take a bullet for. I still remember the story she told me about how another person had physically harmed her. I remember reaching up and touching the bruises on her arms and then taking her face in my hands. I remember his name to this day, and though the person who told me the story is someone I am so proud of, and someone I cherish immensely, I doubt very seriously that she realizes  how that moment made me different.
That day I realized some things aren't intended to get easier with time.

I hope I'm always moved by Ashley's memory, by the prevalence of suicide, and by bruises. Over the past few days I've been confronted with the horrors of child abuse & neglect. My own childhood had trials I wouldn't wish on anyone, but, now, as an adult, my job is to be the voice for the ones who need an advocate. I met a child with a bruise, and my heart was ignited with the same fury I felt that day in the car. I stopped right there and prayed that this would never get easier for me.

People are so quick to desire things that feel good. In the process, we invalidate the things that may, on some level, make us more passionate. Don't get me wrong, I don't love my funny walk, my tumultuous beginnings, or the heartache I felt/feel when I lose a loved one or see a bruise that I know someone else inflicted. But, I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge those moments/experiences as ones that made me better, and better equipped to fight.

I miss Ashley. I hate that Stephen lost hope. I would love to do cartwheels, and I want to puke when I know anyone has endured a bruise at another's hand. These are truths that fuel my fire, and as I endeavor to eliminate abuse from the lives of kiddos, I hope it never gets easier for me to deal with.
A couple weeks ago I played phone tag with the loved one who shared lunch (and her bruises) with me on that last day of my 20th year. Since then, I have encountered many bruises and remembered that day many times. I have thanked God it still isn't easy for  me to see a bruise, hear of a suicide, or see someone lose a dear friend.

These are things that make me work harder and burn brighter for the bruised or grieving children who confide in me. And, as much as I hate the funny walk, it really does serve to help the kids feel safe when they ask about it and I respond with a laugh and explain. They come to me hurting beyond measure, and I can laugh with them because my walk IS funny. They never know the righteous anger that mingles with my love and concerns for them because the love wins, and it's what heals.

They don't see or feel the lump in my throat as I see their bruises and know their stories. They don't know that I wrestle with only being able to do so much, because to them, it means SO MUCH, and I know it. It's beautiful and brutal, and I hope I always feel that way because it means I'll fight harder.
And until the fight is won, I hope it never gets easier to go to battle.