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-- Thom Hunter
This morning was exceptionally bright and beautiful, no clouds and little wind
to stir the briskness of the winter chill. Standing at the pump, filling the car
with gas, I was distracted by a tiny wave and a big grin. A little boy -- about
four -- was perched like a cowboy on the side of the bed of a sleek Ford F-
150 and he was delighted, freed from the confining car seat while his mother
pumped gas and occasionally poked him in the ribs and ran her hand across
his head. He laughed and kicked his boots against the side of the truck,
leaning away from her, pretending to fend off her affections. And then he
stopped, caught my eye, smiled, waved, and threw his hands up in the air
with a "whatever" look to the sky.
Another car pulled up to the pump across from the truck and he repeated his
act, a friend to all. His mother finished filling the truck, mouthed what looked
like the words, "little monkey," swept him inside, buckled him up and away
they drove.
A bridge in the park near our home where my father would take us on visits.
Made of large stones and mortar, it arched above a creek that often ran dry.
We could have run across the ground but we always chose the bridge. I
remember standing on it with my brother and my sisters while my dad took
pictures of us with his black-and-white box camera. All was well on those
spread-out Saturdays.
A bridge in the country near Bridgeport, Texas where my dad would stand
with his 22 caliber rifle shooting beer bottles on the banks of the muddy river,
occasionally picking off a wayward and clueless squirrel. The shots would
echo through the countryside then and through my memory now.
A bridge near Denton, Texas where I posed for photos once, with long hair
and confident grin, looking for the world like I had the world under control . . .
shortly before my first fall as a college freshman, beginning a spiral into same-
sex exploration that would have all my world under its temptation-fueled
control for way too long and at too great a price.
There were more bridges, big and small, architectural wonders over great
gorges to two-by-fours over grimy creek-beds. Too many to remember. Ahhh .
. . see, some bridges just "burn" on their own.
Memories, however, are not ashes. They don't follow the wind out onto the
horizon and disappear into the night sky. They linger like a determined fog
and hold us back for one more try above the gorge, reaching for what seem
like irretrievable relationships with friends and family who may have long-
since stopped waving and wondering. The toll booth on those bridges
requires a second-or-more-chance ticket, but . . . that ticket may have burned
with the bridge.
So, the question is, when one is determined to move on to a new life, how
much energy should go into dismantling the stones and mortar, beams and
planks, steel and lumber from the past? Maybe there are good reasons to
return? In reality, each of our lives is a messy mixture of good and bad things
seen, heard and done. The raging torch does not discriminate between
Redwoods and scrub brush, the really good and the really bad; it burns it all if
left to run its course.
Some bridges smolder and remain unsafe for any further travel. People
in your past who were a part of your sexual fall should remain in your past, left
alone like hot coals. The memories alone will be tough enough to take to God
on a regular basis when they intrude. Given time and left untended, those
bridges will collapse on their own. Leave them to their own weight and don't
try to convince yourself that you need to go back and make things right. That's
what confession and prayer are for.
Some bridges were burned by others the minute we stepped off of them.
We turn timidly around and nothing remains, not even a firm bank on which to
start the rebuilding process. Running in the air like a hapless cartoon
character, we eventually see there is nothing beneath our feet. If those who
burned them ever relinquish control, perhaps God can rebuild those. For
instance, while I am convinced God is hearing the prayers of many, my sons
and my daughter have, at this point, moved even beyond waving distance.
I've consumed a mountain of materials in my efforts to re-build that bridge and
not even a rope extends across the chasm. This one is God's; His will to
prevail.
Some bridges are just no longer bridges, no matter how hard you try to
keep them spanning. Time takes care of some of them, but not if you refuse
to cooperate. The man who abused me is, in all likelihood, dead, but, if not,
the decades of distance makes him so to me. My father, who surrendered to
alcohol, is also dead. Those of us who so long for the extension of
forgiveness and grace for the harm we've done to others only pay lip service
to those great gifts if we do not extend that grace and forgiveness to those
who hurt us. One of the saddest sounds I hear are the plaintive cries of those
still bound by past hurts done to them, allowing their present to be dominated
by the pain of the past, clinging to it, claiming it as an identity.
"But, I can't move on," they say. "Too much happened to me for too long."
Some bridges are still beautiful and strong, like the people who stand
upon them. Maybe you are afraid to take a step onto a bridge you only
thought was burned, fearful it might collapse beneath the weight of history,
succumbing to the reality of repeated failures. You don't trust it because you
yourself seem so unworthy of trust. And yet, standing there in the middle of
the bridge is someone who says "try again." A bridge-keeper, appointed by
God Himself, who does not give up on you and will stand with you until your
balance returns. A bridge-keeper positioned to prove not all bridges are
burned.
And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after
you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong,
firm and steadfast. -- 1 Peter 5:10
Even as Christians, we are not promised that we will be spared suffering and
difficulty. In fact, the opposite is true. We know we will have difficulties. What
God promises is that He will always restore us after any trial we undergo.
Suffering is for a "little while" only, and will be followed by God's healing.
God's healing.
God Bless,
Thom
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jt7LdZwegkU