Some mental images never leave.
During the time I spent doing disaster relief in Lousiana after the hurricanes I chatted with an AMR driver about the worst calls he ever had. He talked about how drug-related vehicular accidents were by far the messiest ones, and he shared one story where a man high on Crystal Meth and perhaps under other influences had been hit by a car. The man was in the middle of the street flailing broken limbs and resisting medical help. Blood everywhere, a scene of carnage that I could see reflected in the eyes of the EMT whose memory I now imagined as well.
That memory--borrowed as it were--haunts me still and I think provides an image of how we often react as well in relationships. Emotionally, we have most likely all crashed at some point. Through intentional or accidental careless driving we have been struck and are lying, bleeding and broken, still in the thoroughfare. But instead of acknowledging our helplessness and hurt we are waving independent arms around, protesting our abilities. Should medical help arrive--care and concern from healed people or the Healer Himself--we bat at them with our disjointed members, causing more pain to ourselves in the process. We long to be rescued, appreciated and loved yet we have bought the lie that we must not show weakness.
We break our arms to fit the needs of those around us, or allow them to break us into their desires. And all the while the drug--the lie that this is who we truly are--numbs us. Often we can't even feel how busted-up we are, and the elixir is so strong to the point that we are convinced we don't need others; we are that strong and independent.
And we wonder why we are so tired.
During the time I spent doing disaster relief in Lousiana after the hurricanes I chatted with an AMR driver about the worst calls he ever had. He talked about how drug-related vehicular accidents were by far the messiest ones, and he shared one story where a man high on Crystal Meth and perhaps under other influences had been hit by a car. The man was in the middle of the street flailing broken limbs and resisting medical help. Blood everywhere, a scene of carnage that I could see reflected in the eyes of the EMT whose memory I now imagined as well.
That memory--borrowed as it were--haunts me still and I think provides an image of how we often react as well in relationships. Emotionally, we have most likely all crashed at some point. Through intentional or accidental careless driving we have been struck and are lying, bleeding and broken, still in the thoroughfare. But instead of acknowledging our helplessness and hurt we are waving independent arms around, protesting our abilities. Should medical help arrive--care and concern from healed people or the Healer Himself--we bat at them with our disjointed members, causing more pain to ourselves in the process. We long to be rescued, appreciated and loved yet we have bought the lie that we must not show weakness.
We break our arms to fit the needs of those around us, or allow them to break us into their desires. And all the while the drug--the lie that this is who we truly are--numbs us. Often we can't even feel how busted-up we are, and the elixir is so strong to the point that we are convinced we don't need others; we are that strong and independent.
And we wonder why we are so tired.
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