When I was 16 someone hurt me. At the time it felt like the end of the world. After a few weeks of trying to manage it myself, I went to Fr Harry.
What he offered, I didn't expect. I'm not even sure I liked it.
Upon completion my tale of woe-is-me and my tears -- real ones -- of grief, he remained silent for a moment.
"You know, Kari. You are writing -- if you will -- the opening paragraphs in the book of your life. These are the parts that set the tone and direction for the rest of the book. If you want to live life as a victim always overshadowed by guilt and shame, by all means, continue this theme."
Pause for a long slow drag on the cigarrette.
"But I see something different for you. I see your strength, love of the Lord, and compassion. I would like to see you write like a warrior."
Another drag.
"The life of a warrior isn't easy, you know. There will still be disappointments and failures. You'll slip and fall. You'll cry. But you'll always get back on your feet and continue the journey."
Final drag.
"Make a choice, girl."
I read this earlier today before writing about Fr Harry. Forgot to open with it...
ReplyDeleteI do not deny that the world needs priests to remind us that we shall all one day die; but I insist that the world also needs another kind of priest, the poet, to remind us that we are not dead yet. -- GK Chesterton