I know the way home

I’ve had the weekend off and had a chance to just relax and soak up some complete Hawaiian serenity for the first time in a couple of weeks. Of course, every day is dreamy in it’s own way, but to not have to set an alarm or rush to beat the sunset or grocery shop or anything has been incredibly restorative and reflective.  So here I sit, in a shady spot at the beach, to share a little story.

Today at church, our lesson was based around being a light, being different, being distinct.  It talked about articulating our faith, sharing our talents to help build others, choosing righteousness over visibility. It got me thinking about an experience I had a few months back but never shared.

It was all about the time that I knew my marriage was irrevocably over and I had succumbed to that awful spiral of anxiety and depression that led me to quit my job and cry my days away in bed. I’m not exaggerating when I say if I was awake, I was crying.  I had started drinking again in a vain attempt to numb the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life and I couldn’t shake the feeling that ending it all was the only way I would ever truly be rid of the tsunami that was raging in my head and in my heart.

In a desperate attempt for hope, one afternoon I asked my oldest son to give me a blessing. I don’t think I’d showered in a couple of days at that point and I’m sure he could probably smell the stale alcohol that was permeating the room I had essentially quarantined myself in. He didn’t point any of that out though and proceeded to give me one of the sweetest and most powerfully direct blessings of my life. He touched on each of my specific fears and gave me comforting counsel in a way that I had never been privy to before then.  I was truly a beggar, mortified to be asking my child to help rescue me, and I clung to every single word.

It wasn’t a cure all and it didn’t remove the obstacles that I would continue to stumble over for months to come but there were several phrases that became my lifeline - promises that I still cling to as I write this. It wasn’t long after that blessing that I drug my wasted and swollen body up the mountain for the first time in months, crying the entire way.  I cried because I was so happy to be back outside where I’d always felt solace; I cried because of how far removed I felt from the old me; I cried out of fear of the unknown future; I cried over my shattered heart.  If you remember from my post about that hike, I missed a turn and ended up on a 7 mile hike to the middle of no where, so I had hours and hours to cry, ponder, repeat.

Anyway, towards the end of my hike back down the mountain, a song from JD’s playlist started that has sort of become my theme song through all of this.  It’s called “I Know The Way Home” by Andrew Galucki and you should definitely give it a listen.  Or three.

 “Look now

There’s more to see;

See how

I used to be.

  

There’s a memory,

Something only I could know.

It’s a wildfire,

Burns everywhere I go.

But I know the way home.

I know the way home.

Go now,

While there’s still time.

See how

The seasons rhyme.

Make a memory,

Something I could call my own.

Like a wildfire,

It burns through all I’ve known.

But I know the way home.

I know the way home.”

In that moment, listening to this song, marveling at the lyrics and the relevance to my messed up life, I immediately felt like I was no longer walking alone.  I felt my Savior next to me, on that mountain.  As distinctly as I have ever felt anything in my entire life, I felt him there, walking beside me and I KNEW that I did, in fact, know the way home.  It was there all along, buried in wadded up tissues and empty bottles of whiskey.  It wasn’t a big mystery to be solved; a treasure map to decode.  It was in all the truths I’d known my entire life and He was there to make sure I got back on the right track.  It wasn’t too late for me to find my way back home.

That day was possibly one of, if not THE sweetest tender mercy I’ve ever encountered and it was so special to me that I didn’t want to share it, for fear of it losing it’s power.  But today, sitting in church, listening to the lesson and invitation to share our light, I was overcome with the desire to write it down, to shout it from the rooftops, to share with someone who may, at this moment feel lost.

You know the way home.  You remember the person you think you lost and when you allow yourself, you feel the glimmer of hope that not only can you get that person back, you actually have the power for greatness beyond your wildest dreams.  It’s who you are.  You are a child of God and you know the way home.  I know this beyond the shadow of any doubt, even if you don’t just yet.

XOXO ~Ames