“Breathe and Rest.”  This is the invitation which came in an all but audible form to a lifeless Kelly Monroe Kullberg while residing in a cabin near the ocean on the North Shore of Boston.  Broken under the strain of consecutive hardships and losses, she tells of the wooing love of the Creator which draws her back to life as she embarks upon what she calls the Red Barn Run, a lengthy excursion that takes her to the water’s edge.  Here, amidst nature’s glorious symphony, she finds the loving embrace of the Father, a request to rejoin the dance and a “freshly storied world.”  After her experience, the Light dawned, not only illumining everything else, but illumining her as well.  She went forward, not with the promise of painless days, but with the promise that God is there and is not silent.

I recently read this account of Kelly’s journey through faith and life alongside her laudable work with the Veritas Forum in Finding God Beyond Harvard.  Her writing prompted a personal reflection of my own experience with regard to loss and living the Christian story.  I, too, have experienced the death of dreams, though in different ways than Kelly.  But the cause of my suffering is perhaps less important to this story than the fact that I have suffered and what has come about as a result of that suffering.

I originally came out on the other side of my death-of-a-dream experience with a vague numbness.  There was a staying knowledge that God was good, but experientially I was starting to wonder.  In the beginning, I did the only thing I knew to do --- I escaped into the pages of a good fiction novel.  I stayed there as long as I could before facing my new reality. When I finally did face that new reality I didn’t like it very much, so I wept.  After a few days, exhausted under the weight of disappointment, I decided that I should reengage with those in my faith community.  One evening, I arrived at a gathering of a small group of friends.  At first, I was able to carry on light conversation and choose topics that would relate more to others than myself.  But inevitably, in keeping with the keen insight of my friends, my new reality was exposed.  What happened next was, in a sense, my own Red Barn Run experience. 

                                           
As my tears seemed to surge, the entire course of our evening suddenly shifted.  The small group which had gathered together surrounded me and began to pray, sometimes in words and sometimes in song.  Here I told of my doubts, pain and loss.  Here I received prayers of hope, love and life.  These friends were convinced of God’s call upon my life at a moment when I could not conceive of one on my own.  They invited me to pray too, but offered to carry me until I could find the words to speak.  Their message to me was “Breathe and Rest.”  On my way home that night, though completely dark outside, I (like Kelly) am sure that I saw the Sun. 

In the days following my own Red Barn Run experience, I continued to live, at least in part, on borrowed faith.  Dreams that are envisioned so passionately don’t die easily and it would take some time to see clearly again.  When I began to wonder how I would move forward, friends once again came along to help.  One treated me to a favorite meal and talked with certainty of better days ahead.  Another graciously offered a trip to the beach where we would take a long walk and begin to dream new dreams.   Still another, bearing the weight of a disappointment similar to my own, offered a faithful, listening ear on the hard days and the good.  Many others offered their unending support toward new opportunities and possibilities.  All of these experiences have wooed me nearer to God and away from the ravaging effects of bitterness.  For them and a merciful Creator I am exceedingly grateful. 

Doors do not always quickly open after they seem to have been bolted shut.  Sometimes the waiting period is long.  In this instance, however, God has chosen to forgo the delay.  Opportunities are coming.  New beginnings are on the horizon.  Those same friends who through a symphony of prayer enveloped me in the Father’s love, invited me to rejoin the dance and helped to give me a “freshly storied world” are now rejoicing with me.  And because of their friendship and own faithful pursuits, I have a visible example of what it means to follow the Father’s beckoning call.  Most certainly, the place where I am headed is where God was leading all along.  It is unfamiliar terrain, but it is not devoid of God’s presence.  I can embark upon this uncharted journey because I am not alone.  In fact, my own Red Barn Run experience has reminded me of the promise that God is there and is not silent.