vent with unrestrained vigor

Alas this may be more like a running journal of my thought and experience. Well as long as I’m sitting on this train that is.

We’re sitting in the train station and I’m watching commuters waking back and forth, some standing next to large bags that hold provisions for the next leg of their journey, and others guarding brief cases full of documents that validate their time in the city. A group of military cadets just walked by, they are high school age and look pretty sharp and professional in their uniforms and big metal buttons.

As we entered the city we pasted the art museum, if you’re a Rocky fan you can picture it now. It’s a massive building which seems to demand your gaze; it has huge columns, steps, and a presence and stature over looking the city and Schuylkill River that are a force to be reckoned with. But as our train rolled in my eye caught the artist work of other person; art that will probably never be encased in glass and cherished but non-the less one’s expression of their soul.

It was graffiti, colors swirling together on a wall, most likely done in secret, at night in the protective covering of darkness. But someone expressed themselves, they where able to say what they wanted to say, to not be interrupted, or immediately corrected and challenged, but allowed to vent with unrestrained vigor.

How many people are looking for someone to let them express themselves, to be able to pull what’s swirling around inside and bring it out into the light? To pull visions into reality, to figure out how to put legs to dreams, to pull the beauty of their imagination out into the open, beauty that will inspire someone, will bless someone, will show truth to someone; for their art to become art to others.

But how many others need a wall to vent on with unrestrained vigor? To not pull out the beauty, imagination, or dreams out but to pull the rage, anger, hurt, pain that hides in the corners of their heart. To be released from it’s venomous whispers in their soul.

This week Pearl and I had invited some of our dearest friends over to relax and to just “be” together. As Pearl and I were talking about this evening we both had this deep sense to treat our friends to some drinks and dessert, these are the types of friends who bless others abundantly and we just wanted to say in a small way, thanks for loving us.

They were to arrive at our house around 7:30 and they are usually very punctual people, so this meant Pearl and I had to make sure we were one time, but this night they seemed to be really running late, they actually ended up being 30 minutes late, which for them was a big deal.
Once they arrived we informed them of our desire to thank them for their friendship and love through the sharing of alcohol and chocolate covered calories, so to Annie Bailey’s we headed.

As the night progressed the reason for their tardiness became more and more clear. In a nutshell they had had one hell of a fight.

As conversation continued Pearl and I felt the small nudge of God saying to not let this conversation pass, to not blow this off, but to push in, listen deeply, and be willing to ask the hard questions.

So we did.

The honestly of their answers stung a little, I didn’t want to know the true state of their being, I’d rather live in the blissful naivety of “everything’s fine” and move back to the conversations about weather, sports or such. But God had ordained this outing, this friendship, and this conversation.

They talked, we listened, they talked some more, we repeated what we where hearing asking for clarity, and they again talked some more.

They talked about how little things had slowing grown into bigger things, and these little things where now killing them. The small was becoming the large, and this new large was crushing their marriage.

We listen as they expressed true feelings of resentment, hurt, anger, hopelessness, and in some sense the acceptance of defeat.

We watched as tears filled eyes and as their nonverbals mirrored the breaking happening in the heart.

We spoke truth, or at least tried our best to. Truth about who they are as individuals, truth about the state of their marriage, truth about their love, truth about the actions they where leaning towards.

I hope the evening and conversation was meaningful for them, I hope and pray that they will discover love again, that commitment will return, that they will learn to listen to each other.

They said it was nice to talk, to be able to get things off their chest, to be able to vent with unrestrained vigor.

God, I long to be able to shut up and listen, to be willing to be still and available, to be able to see the moments when I need to ask, to push, and the wisdom to know when theirs something on the inside that needs to be drawn out. Whether it’s the beauty of calling out someone’s art, the beauty of their imagination and dreams that are swirling around, or the pain and junk of someone’s heart being crushed with life.

May we be willing to call out whats on the inside, the art and the pain.

“Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endure though every circumstance.” 1 Corinthians 13:7