Category: Linda Kruschke

You Must Keep Walking

The Narrows slot canyon at Zion National Park is 18 miles long and if you want to walk up it you’re in the water—often very deep water, with a strong current and rocky bottom—all the way. It’s not for the weak or faint of heart.

Sometimes in life, we find ourselves in a deep, dark valley. Often it feels more like a narrow slot canyon where no sunshine can reach.

My husband and I hiked part of the way up the Narrows last summer. There was no way I could make it the full 18 miles. Even the mile we did trek was almost too much for me. My wristband that says “I can and I will” reminded me of the hope I needed to make it back downriver.

Life itself isn’t for the faint of heart.

It’s impossible without hope. Thankfully, hope never dies. And God never leaves us alone. Never.

David reminds us in Psalm 23 that no matter how dark the slot canyon of life becomes, we are not alone. We must always remember these words, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me.” We are only walking through the dark valley and on our darkest days, hope is there.

Please dear heart, keep walking.

If you find yourself walking in darkness, unable to see the light, you must keep walking. Even if you can barely muster a crawl, keep moving forward through the dark valley. You can and you will reach the other side. And when you do, you’ll find hope was there all along.

My own valley of the shadow of death lasted more than seven years.

At the time, I felt all hope was lost. But looking back I can see that my Savior never left me. Hope never died, dim though it was.

I pray you may one day look back and see that hope has never left you either.

Linda L. Kruschke blogs at Another Fearless Year.

Broken Heart of Love – A Poem

This poem was written for someone I love who struggles with bipolar disorder. Though I have suffered through depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, I can never truly understand her pain. I want to help but I am at a loss as to what to do.

I wanted to share this here so those who suffer from mental illness might know how your suffering breaks the hearts of those who love you but don’t know what to do.

A Broken Heart of Love

This searing pain in my heart
I wish it would go away
I pray for it to leave me
But it is love
I would be hollow without it

I watch you drowning
in a sea of turmoil and fear
I reach out my hand,
the one connected to my broken heart
“It’s okay, the sailing’s fine,” you say

I walk away, thinking perhaps
my eyes deceive me and you are not
drowning, or else why
would you say otherwise?
I know you would not lie

But still this pain
deep down inside my aching heart
reminds me
that you are not fine,
the sea is not calm

The storm rages
but I cannot rescue you
You cannot see my hand
reaching through the darkness
beckoning you to dry land

*

ysic, Linda K.

Linda’s website

Losing the Glimmer of Hope

In my deepest depression, I thought often how much easier it would be if I was dead. The unbearable pain never seemed to let up. But I didn’t consider suicide. Instead I slept. If I didn’t have to be anywhere in the morning, I slept until 11:00, getting twelve or thirteen hours of sleep. I’d nap if I got the chance, even after a long night’s sleep. Sleep was my escape.

Each night before I went to sleep, I held onto a glimmer of hope that when I awoke, everything would be better. It was a tiny glimmer, but a glimmer nonetheless.

As surely as one can move mountains with faith the size of a mustard seed, one can stay alive with the tiniest glimmer of hope. Because hope is a powerful commodity. Just as a nanogram of a deadly toxin holds the power to kill, a glimmer of hope has the power to give life.

So I held onto my glimmer of hope with all I had. Until one day when I awoke and the glimmer was gone. Hopelessness threatened to strangle me. That was the day I planned my demise, my exit from this cruel world, in a most calculating way. My plan involved mentally counting all the pills I had in the medicine cabinet.

Truth be told, hope remained in that dark place even though I couldn’t see it and felt certain it no longer existed. Hope didn’t depend on me. It came from a place greater than I and it kept me alive even when I desired more than anything else to leave this life of pain and suffering behind.

Hope found me, held me tight, and kept me alive.

If you are in that dark place of deep despair and depression, feeling all hope has been snuffed out, cling to the truth that hope never dies. Hope never lies and never lets go.

If you have a friend or loved one who is struggling with depression, realize you might be the hope they need. They might need you to find them, hold them tight, and keep them alive, until they can see the glimmer of hope they need to hold onto themselves.

You can read more of my posts at AnotherFearlessYear.net.

The Power of My Wound

A Poem by Linda K.

Healing doesn’t happen all at once.
Sexual trauma runs too deep,
is much too complex for simple remedies.

We have no Star Trek sickbay
or magic tricorder
to bind up the wounds,
erase the battle scars.

And would we want to if we could?
Would we walk away,
pretend it never happened,
we were never assaulted
violated… hated… berated…
made to feel shame and doubt?

Could we ignore the very truth of what we
know was wrong… evil… the vilest of all?
Could we simply walk away
and cease to bear witness
for those who come after?
Or maybe for those violated before
our own innocence was vanquished
but are yet to heal at all?

If we could be healed completely
in an instant, in the blink
of a selfish, knowing eye…

But to do so meant leaving
our sisters, our friends,
our daughters, even strangers,
without the hope of their presence?

Could we? Should we?

Because to heal 100 percent
I think is to forget every ounce,
every moment, of
the pain and struggle.

And to forget is to lose compassion.
So perhaps it is worth the
ups and downs of scars
that appear healed but sometimes,
more often than we’d like, bleed tears
of understanding helping others
feel not so alone.

Often I pray for complete healing.
For years I prayed to forget.
But then I remember that
without my wound
I am not me.

Without my wound
the scarring of my heart and soul,
I am powerless.

aasignLinda

AnotherFearlessYear.net