Letter to a Fallen Brother

(dedicated to all who have fallen away)

Friday, August 17, 2007

to an old friend.


i don't know where to start. i don't know the words. i don't know the way back through the wreckage. i am afraid.

i will start with what i remember: The last time i saw you. i want you to know that you inspired me. Your heart, your dreams, your words, your honesty. The possibility of community - that word always pushing from your mouth, back when i had no idea what it meant. And freedom. The tears in your eyes and the honesty in your voice. No book deal, no speaking at conferences, just real life. A man willing to bleed on stage. A heart on display. I remember your love for your wife and your beautiful children. And i remember thinking "no matter what, they will always have that."

And i've heard the stories. The whispers of all the missing months. The cocaine and the women and the neighborhoods. The darkness and the wreckage and the running. But something quiet in me has always hoped for you, believed for you. That if there is air in your lungs, then there is still hope. That God is still in the business of redemption. That the story of Johnny Cash is still the best damn story I've ever heard. That you and I are not so different. (A friend said that to me a few months ago, and i knew instantly that it was true) Incapable of small talk, addicted to our dreaming, to all things epic. Constantly aware of the holes in our heart. Things of contrast, our own, goodness and madness. You and i, we are broken people in need of grace, in need of healing. The edge that once seemed so distant - crazy people and bad people and the darkest night - i used to believe that they were far away. They are not so far. i know that you have lived out there. You may even be there now. i have seen the shadows in myself. But there is hope for us. You once helped me believe. Will you believe what you know to be true?

i don't know the way across the miles. i don't know the words or where to start. We need some strongest candle to burn despite this storm. i am certainly afraid, afraid to give you my hand, afraid for my family, afraid for myself. But i know we must. We must meet you. We must. There is no other way to live. The quiet voice that whispered for all those months, the voice that found me in India and Chicago - your places. The constant "do not give up on him" - it is getting louder now.

i want you to know that i believe in you. Present-tense. Not "believed". I believe in you now. Still. I say I've seen you, I know you, who you were meant to be. And i want you to know that you drive me. Your life, your pain, your dreams, your failures - these things move me. They've helped shape me. This work that I'm doing, this shouting back at darkness, it is also me shouting back at your darkness. I pray that you might join me.

i remember you. You are still alive. There is hope for you. And grace. I have seen you smile. I have seen your eyes. Do you remember? We are still alive.

~jamie, satellite beach, florida