No Need To Edit Your Pain

The sun is setting, and the mask you wore all day finally feels heavy enough to take off. You rehearsed the story before you told it, sanding down the jagged edges so no one would flinch at your pain.

You made it palatable. Digestible.

Safe. But the light does not need your edited version.

It saw the raw thing before you smoothed it over. There was a man once who had been tormented by a spirit that threw him into fire and water, trying to destroy him.

When he was finally freed, Jesus told him simply: 'Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you.' He did not say: make it pretty. He did not say: protect them from the horror.

He said: tell them what happened. The truth of your suffering is not a burden you must lighten for others.

It is the very thing that connects you to the mercy that found you. You do not have to pre-digest your grief for the light to hold it.

It can handle the whole, unedited story. The exhale is not the relief of being understood; it is the relief of no longer needing to translate.