The Longest Walk: Forward, Backward, or Inertia

"I want  Jesus to walk with me, I want Jesus to walk with me,

All along my pilgrim journey, I want Jesus to walk with me."

A favorite poem of mine begins, "Well son, I'll tell you, Life's for me ain't been no crystal stair." And while the poet identifies neither mom  nor son, we may assume that they come from a certain socioeconomic class; probably the Black underclass. can imagine the Mother has reasons to feel hopeless, but she doesn't! Thus, we witness the power of the spoken word, steeped in a hope that diminishes despair.  

No matter age, status, or experiences, most of us live lives of isolation, if not desperation.  Whether we build our house on sprawling lots; live in expensive, urban lofts, or in cramped quarters, isolation relegates the sense of community to a distant dream.  So what happens if we experience loss? From missing the last parking space on our street; the theft of a vehicle with all the security bells and whistles; the aging and terminal illness of a beloved pet; or irrevocably, the death of a parent, child, favorite aunt, or friend, from the minute to the massive, how do we handle it?

Do we recognize the loss or the enormity of it? Can we face it? How have we been socialized to deal with the "slings and arrows " of what essentially reflect change? Do we have the words or language, the sensitivity or concepts to manage adversity?  Where would we have learned it? Surely not in public school (or private ones, for that matter)! Nor would we have been introduced to grief or loss in some Churches.  Certainly not on social media, the 21st century "religion" many have embraced to assuage the loneliness, isolation, or communal bereavement that besets them.

"In my trials, walk with me, walk with me.    
In my trials, walk with me, walk with me,

When the shades of life are falling, Lord, I want Jesus to walk with me"

Some may hear my plaintive musings as pitiful, while many may hear them as weakness.   Still others may see me walking, blindfolded, down a hall whose walls I cannot feel.  Isolation usually creeps up, like "fog on little cat's feet."  Especially with death, grief can propel those left behind to shut out well-intentioned friends, relatives, and colleagues, who may finally stop trying to break through the pall of grief.  We typically reject those who wish to help because we hurt too much and never know when a "good day" may be on the horizon.  Sometimes,we're just too tired, disoriented, or disappointed.  Often, we want to crawl into the softest spot we can find for the toughest places we're trying to protect.

"In my sorrows, walk with me, walk with me, In my sorrows, walk with me, walk with me, When my heart within is aching, Lord, I want Jesus to walk with me.

 "Never say never, Baby," my Grandmother advised all her grandchildren during our growing up years.  As a kid, I believed everything "Mama" said.  I remember her as a tall, stately woman who seemed to have a different hat (and outfit) for every Sunday "The Good Lord sends," she'd tell us.  A style setter in the Methodist Church where she was a fixture, Mama must have felt compelled to be "Dressed to the Nines," really not only at Church, but everywhere she went.  She dressed appropriately.  She never wore pants or slacks, though.  "I got enough of those kinds of clothes while working in the fields" (of the Mississippi Delta), she explained.  Plus, she wanted to look her best for the Lord, to represent Him the proper way.

"In my troubles, walk with me, walk with me, In my troubles, walk with me, walk with me.  When my life becomes a burden, Lord, I want Jesus to walk with me."

Inevitably, the song becomes a prayer for respite, for peace, and for edging toward a joy we thought had been lost forever.

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