I sat alone in my dorm room, weeping and wondering what I would say if anyone found me and asked what was wrong. The truth would have been that I was upset because my companionship was rejected, and I didn’t feel that I had the right to be upset. I felt that I was simply supposed to leave the room and allow the others to enjoy their evening.
This was how I had grown up. Just understand: it wasn’t personal, but they didn’t have much time and it took extra time to guide a blind person around obstacles, describe things, etc. Translation: a person could not actually have fun with me. I was a burden to their fun.
The more I thought about it, the deeper it hurt. But I couldn’t just stop thinking about it. If this was true, I would never really have friends.
Easter was approaching and the messages in church and all around me, in devotional meetings at the Christian college I attended, were about how Jesus died for our sins. As I sat in room, feeling the weight of being sinned against, I sensed that Jesus’ atoning work was for those who hurt me. As I forgave a thousand times, I wondered where I met Jesus. I wasn’t trying to count myself without sin, but I wondered where Jesus met the person who felt the impact of sin.
Then I met Jesus in Gethsemane, alone in the garden, praying and shedding drops of blood. Not “met” as in a personal meeting, but via my reading. While he was doing this intense praying, his disciples–these people whom he had recently called friends and asked to watch and pray on his behalf nearby–fell asleep.
I was familiar with biblical narratives from childhood, and this was a familiar story. But it became fresh for me on that day. I felt the sting of finding friends asleep when I thought they were diligently praying. Did they really care at all?
Alone. Jesus felt it. I felt it.
But Jesus didn’t practice a philosophy of “Just understand. They’re tired. You make them take long journeys and you tell them terrifying things. They’re traumatized and traumatized people fall asleep.”
Jesus confronted them. “Can’t you pray for one hour?” I imagine him saying much more that wasn’t written. “I asked one thing of you. I spent all these last three years pouring my life into you and it’s coming to an end and you can’t stay awake one hour. How am I supposed to trust you with what comes after? We’re going to try this again. Could you please just stay awake one hour while I’m over there bleeding my heart in prayer?”
I had no one to trust with the hour. But I knew then that Jesus was my companion on my journey with aloneness.
- Learning From My Younger Self - February 10, 2024
- more reflections on ITD - June 30, 2023
- On travel while at ITD: reflections after day 1 - June 27, 2023
- ITD day 1 - June 27, 2023
- ITD day 1 - June 27, 2023
- Job Descriptions, Inclusivity, and Equity for People with Disabilities - October 15, 2022
- Traveling without a Guide Dog: Experience with Cane and Walker - October 14, 2022
- Disability and Church, Intersection - June 11, 2022
- Review: When Chronic Pain and Illness Take Everything Away - June 11, 2022
- Grammar and Style Resources for Writers - June 9, 2022
