Several years ago, I found myself in a bad, bad way. The kind of bad way where when you open your eyes in the morning, your first thought is “How soon can I close them again?” kind of way. My problem? Too big to define, too nebulous to navigate. I was cloaked in a tremendously personal pain, one that I worked at all costs to cover for fear of exposure of my ugly scars, yet managed to still wear and bear
outwardly like a bad perm.
Me: If only someone could see how badly I hurt.
Also me: If only I could disappear so no one would see how badly I am broken.
Then one day that started limply like the rest, I staggered into my office, empty of energy and heavy with heartache only to find someone did, in fact, see my suffering, despite my effort to avoid exposure and without hearing my excuses or explanations. Centered squarely on my desk sat a veggie sammich, a supermarket gift card, and a single-stemmed spring bloom. No note. An anonymous angel had appeared, whose silent service served to deliver me from darkness and save me from myself without a single post, like or share. I was seen and blessed without the burden of sacrificing my soul. What a priceless gift and a truly selfless act of service.
I wish every individual the gift of having their human hurts both recognized and protected by silent acts of service. While it might be worthy of a post and likely to generate all the likes, sometimes someone’s story and your part in saving it are better left unsaid.