There’s another way when the walls start closing in and the atmosphere becomes heavy and suffocating. A grace that is afforded when hope seems lost. A light so serene that the raging darkness has no option but to bow and drift way.
But there’s a gap. Stepping away from the suffocation to create room to breathe isn’t the same thing as breathing deeply and freely. Being released is not the same as living in freedom. There’s a particular heartache that comes from watching someone you care about fall into that space between where they used to be and this intersection of grace. They feel only confusion. They can’t comprehend what is the light that you see by because they struggle to see it themselves. For them, the light allowing them to see has only revealed how deep their wounds. How painful the gap. How populated the dark. They don’t want the light because they enjoyed their ignorance and out of a misplaced sense of fault are now looking to climb their way out of the gap without the light by which they are seeing.
And more pain is revealed.
Arwen knows this heartache. “Whatever grace is given me, let it pass to him.” I can see the light in the darkness as the shadows concede and fade. I can hear a roar from the heavens as the ground shakes and tumbling pebbles begin to fill in the gap. Hope is not some wispy and ephemeral waif to be protected. She’s scrappy. She’s got dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, and grit in the tangles of her hair. And she’s getting up for another round.
(Inspiration for this came from the song “Another in the Fire” by Hillsong, the character of Arwen caring for Frodo in Lord of the Rings, and a twitter post by Matthew @CrowsFault)