“Just to set the record straight, I love you. There are times when I can get so engrossed in the narratives and looking for the lessons learned from struggle that the foundational truth gets lost. So, let me just make the declaration again, I love you. I want you to know that my love is unwavering. I realize that your choices, emotions, feelings, are real. I'm not certain about many things, including how or when we'll find our way back, but I hope and pray that we do. Regardless of it all, I love you.”
These stories, the words, the vulnerability, the encouragement we give to others, the community we're building here on this site—it's not about reconciliation [directly]. It's about the reality of estrangement and the deep longing that comes with it, the emptiness of that void, the ongoing cycle of grief and everything it entails, but yet eventually being able to see the beauty that remains in the world, and guiding others to see it too.
Something happens when we are going through something—we start to notice others experiencing similar. It's called confirmation bias—you're buying a car, and suddenly you start seeing that car everywhere. they were there all along, but just didn't notice them because it didn't matter to you, it had no impact on you. But once it started to matter, once you started to care, it became part of your consciousness and altered how you saw the world around you.
Pain works in much the same way. When you are going through a loss of any kind, has someone ever said “I can only imagine how you feel.” Can they really, If they've never actually experienced that same type of loss? When friends hear our story, they often say with good intentions, “I can only imagine how you feel” or even worse “I know how you feel”—it hurts because there's no way they could understand. Then, a wave of loneliness hits us as we realize that very few people around us truly understand what we are dealing with.
But then, something else happens. We start to truly see people, to recognize those who are experiencing the same pain we are. Because we have experienced the pain, the hurt, and the emotions, we can spot the signs a mile away—the retreating, depression, deflection, anger, defensiveness, withdrawal, the changes in personality. And now we have grace, empathy, and our reactions and responses to hurt people are very different. In fact, when we choose to channel our energy to meet people where they are and show love and kindness in a way that's appropriate for the situation, it can be as therapeutic for them as it is healing for us.
That's how community begins. That's how love is demonstrated. This is how we would have wanted others to treat us when we needed it the most. And this is what the The Prodigal Hope Project aims to establish—a community that shares stories that reflect the stages of the journey we're all on. We may not have all the answers, but what is certain is “We are not alone”. And along the way, there's a lot to appreciate if we have the right perspective and the right community to share it with.
“So, my love, for the record, I love you. I hope you understand that this has never changed. The stories and feelings I share are meant to uplift others, but they're always told with a thread of hope and the belief that it won't be long before I get to hug you again.”
I would love to here from you. If you have a story of your own, share some thing or contact me and we will grab some coffee. I would love to be here for you. Thanks for stopping by and connecting.
Matt Keane