****For those of you who don't know, Lauryn was a girl my family took in when I was 12. She lived with us for two years before moving out. It ended very ugly.
Last week when I went to get my blood drawn, I walked into the office only to find out that Lauryn was in the next room. I heard her voice first and in an instant I was taken back to the nights spent laughing in her bedroom in the basement, nights spent flipping off beds in hotel rooms, days spent shopping, nights closing the store...For years I have wondered what it would be like to see Lauryn again. I've wondered if she would recognize me now. I've wondered if I would recognize her. Turns out it wasn't hard to do- her red hair, raspy voice, her laugh, her 30 tattoos. And she recognized me in an instant too. I could see that there were similar emotions running through her head as she looked me up and down. She later sent me a message on facebook asking me how I was doing and she told me she was proud of me.
My family and I don't talk about Lauryn. It was a painful experience for us all when she left- and bringing her up in conversation never really happens, because bringing her up is rarely worth the stab of pain we will all inevitably feel.
Seeing her? A foot away from me?
It was harder then I could have imagined. Part of me wanted to run to her and hug her and tell her I love her. The other part of me wanted to scream at her and tell her how awful it was when she moved out. How packing up her things the morning after broke my heart and left Max and I huddled in a corner together sobbing. How we trusted her. She was our sister- or she might as well have been. She was here; a part of our family every single day for so long- when she left it was hard to remember how we functioned as five instead of six. Another part of me wanted to cry. Cry for my 'sister'. Because the dead look in her eyes and the scars on her hands showed me that she had fallen back into the habits my family had tried to hard to pull her out of by pointing her to the Savior who loved her exactly the way she was and by showing her she was loved by Him, and by us.
And seeing her left me feeling broken. Because I could tell she was.
I'm still having nightmares.
Then this past weekend, I went to see Les Mis at Merrillville High School. I used to do theatre productions there for years and years. My old best friend, Ella, had one of the lead roles. Ella and I were best friends for years. She even lived with us during the summers because it was easier for theatre rehearsals. She only went home for 1 day a week. In the last year, things went terribly wrong. So wrong that there are things that happened between us that no one knows about. I've shared with my dearest friends some of the things that happened between us. But not all of them. And I had braced myself- I knew seeing her was going to be hard. It's never easy. I wasn't prepared enough though. Seeing Ella killed me. It was harder then I thought it was going to be. I cried when she first came on stage- for reasons I can't explain. I cried when she sang her solo because we worked so hard on that song together a few years ago. I cried as I fell asleep that night because I remember how much fun we had together before I wasn't good enough anymore.
And I'm crying now. Because I've realized in the past two weeks that some wounds are never truly going to heal. I will probably never be able to see or talk about Lauryn without there being pain there. I will probably never be able to see Ella without my heart aching for the friendship we once had. Both of these girls are girls I considered to be my sisters. Both of these girls are girls I miss terribly. Both of these girls are girls I pray for regularly.
I've given these wounds to God. And He has certainly brought healing in both areas. I don't blame myself for Lauryn's drug addictions anymore. I don't blame myself for her leaving us the way she did anymore. I don't hate myself now every time I see Ella and I can even sing again.
But I wonder, if it true when they say that some wounds just run too deep for there to be complete healing. Because all these years later, I still feel like I'm being stabbed with a knife when I see, think, or hear about them. Or maybe that pain is there because I still love them, despite how hurt I was by them. Or maybe that pain is a reminder that people in this world will fail us, but God is always good and He will never fail.
And I know, because I've seen, God will bring beauty from the ashes and from the pain. And I know that He has used both of these painful circumstances to draw me closer to Him. And I trust Him. Completely.
But that doesn't make it easy.
In this life, God may bring us to situations, or relationships, in which we are never guaranteed a soft landing. He may ask us to go through something hard. But I am trusting in the fact that I know He has a great plan and He knows everything about my future. And I know He will continue to meet me in the midst of my pain and that He will continue to use it to reveal Himself to me in it. And that knowledge has kept me going these past few days. I know He has not abandoned me.
And He never will.
