Darken the Door

I pulled into the parking spot, turned off the car, and stared at the door to portable Building I. The neon dash clock read 6:32 pm, but it was already dark outside. Therefore, the windows of the small building glowed with the cheery light of fluorescent bulbs. Despite the November chill in the air, my palms were sweaty. Was I ready for this? I knew only one person who attended this church, the neighbor who told me about this support group. And I knew zero people in this room I was about to walk into. 

I took a deep breath and smoothed out the blouse I wore over a post-operative compression brace. Would they be able to tell? Would it be obvious that I need healing in more ways than just the one that brought me here tonight? 

As I walked up the ramp to the door, my mind became an assembly line of questions and excuses to turn around. 

Was this going to be like the support group for family members of alcoholics that I tried a few years ago? 

Was I putting these people at risk if he were to find out I started attending? 

It’s been 17 months since the kids and I were rescued and brought to live here in this new part of the country with my parents. I have come a long way. I don’t need this now, do I? 

Will I have to say the ‘D’ word? Or worse, will I have to say the ‘D’ word following the word, ‘I’m?’ 

Will I cry in front of total strangers?

I pushed the thoughts away and pushed the door open. The smell of comfort hit me in the face. Since this was a special stand-alone session centered around holidays, a potluck spread was laid out on one side of the room. Crockpots and all. Four welcoming leaders and a couple of veteran participants contributed to the comfort being served. 

Was I in the right place? Had I accidentally walked into the ESL class that also meets on campus tonight? No, I quickly noticed we were all speaking the same language. 

As it would turn out, that fact is what drew me back to the group when they kicked off a new 13-week session. There is a common language between those who have suffered in a particular way that is not fully understood by those who haven’t. 

The night I walked into the Surviving the Holidays session of DivorceCare - 17 months post-separation, 1.5 months post-divorce, and 1 month post-tumor-removal - is now almost 8 years in the past. That large incision on my rib cage is now a scar. The same goes for the internal trauma and fear. One woman I met in that very first group became a dear friend and that church became home. Over the many years, tears, laughter, and participants who have become like family, one in particular became literal family. My husband and I met on day one of my third session, his first. And those once sweaty palms now carry a leader's guide and bake weekly desserts for the group. Only God can bring this kind of redemption.

So, reach out to that person you know who’s been where you are and ask for direction. Do that internet search and look for a group in your area that can offer the healing and hope you need, whether it’s from divorce (DivorceCare), the loss of a loved one (GriefShare), or single parenting (Single & Parenting). Or it may be support for overcoming addiction, marriage counseling, or help with facing a chronic illness that you need. Whatever it is, push away the excuses and doubts - and push open that door. 

Because sometimes, darkening the doorway can truly bring so much light.

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