On This Rock I Fret

Human relationships can be tricky things.

I'm involved in a lot of them. In fact, for the most part I regard my life to be rich in deep and lasting friendships, some of them life long. Family members, especially my husband, bring a stability and anchoring to my own identity and personhood. Others, like the delirous joy that exudes from my granddaughter, feel like outlandish gifts I most certainly don't deserve. I am more me because of the other.

I also feel a great delight in the connections I have with people from so many different areas and eras of my life that fall into various degrees of knowing. Their laughter, their opinions, their stories all make a contribution to my own. God brings so much to my life through the interface of other human souls with mine, and I am glad, grateful.

Still, at times, the relational territory gets weird. You want it, but it's not easy. It's sort of like getting out to the water on one of the rocky beaches up on the Bruce Peninsula. The vivid colours of sky and water, and the promise of an invigorating swim draw you out there, but each step is treacherous, requiring great concentration and agility. The rocks are different sizes, and some are well set, while others are totally loose, and they all look the same. You can't tell, sometimes, when you put your foot down, whether or not you'll be okay. The threat of a nasty tumble is in every step.

It's puzzling to me how quickly I can lose my nerve in these relationships. In spite of the fact that at other times, certainly in the past year, I have been able to square my shoulders and face dark and insidious enemies with a courage and ferocity beyond myself, the threat that comes to me in the form of a difficult relationship makes me want to forget about the swim and run back to the forest to hide. I can anticipate the fall, remembering the pain of past knee-smashing, elbow-crunching, face-disfiguring encounters with the rocks of violation and betrayal. My ankles are weak with the sense that I've been here before, and it's going to hurt.

What keeps me going? Certainly there would be some routes to the waters of friendship that should be avoided at all costs. When another human soul is so damaged that abuse and violence in any of their forms is the experienced expectation, it's not wise or loving to go there. And in some cases, I have chosen not to visit those beaches any more. Nothing good or godly can come of it.

But something about the way God keeps pursuing me informs me that rocky relationships should not be abandoned as a matter of course. I feel like running, but I don't. And I might get hurt, and I may do some hurting, as we both pick our way through. And if I get tired, like really, really tired, like I am now, I may need to sit out for a while and catch my breath before moving forward again. But if I love you, I'll keep going. And if I left my love for Jesus love you when I can't love you, I'll keep on going. If you start to pick up stones to throw at me, I'll leave the beach.

But as long as we can keep heading out to the water together, I won't give up on you.

At least, I don't want to.