Touching Tragedy

Today is Write Love On Her Arms Day. I seen a fair amount of To Write Love On Her Arms propaganda in the past few years, and I've known very generally what it was about, but I never really knew the whole story. Yesterday a kid in one of my classes gave a presentation on the group footnoting the mission, vision, key players, year of foundation, and some programs it offers. Then he gave the expanded story about its origins. It started with a nineteen-year-old girl named Renée who's been overwhelmed with struggle all her life: alcohol and drug addiction, sexual abuse, depression, attempted suicide. For a week she was taken in by a group of people who soon called her friend. Their mission was simply to love, to show her how much she was truly worth. From the statements of a member on the original team:

It might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love... Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true. 

This and so much more is the story that began To Write Love On Her Arms. 

After hearing that story, my heart was truly touched. I could identify with their calling and their vision and wanted to do something to help. That was yesterday. Today it was only natural that I participated in the movement and wrote LOVE in large letters across my arm. I hoped that for those that didn't already know, it could be a conversation starter. Especially since I'd so recently been familiarized with the organizations origins, the timing couldn't have been more perfect. 

But after seeing my neighbor whose family had been very much effected because of depression and self-mutilation, I realized the extent of the statement I was making. Though the company itself has embraced its main-stream acceptance (after all it is spreading awareness), I suddenly felt strange wearing LOVE as my advertisement. I realized, maybe for the first time, the tragedy all around me that I don't can't even begin to understand.

In my life, I feel there's always been a few degrees of separation between myself and deep pain. One of my very best friends grew up with a similar life story as Renée, but by the time I met him, he'd already been touched by love and had largely moved passed most of those struggles. Others of my close friends have shared very personal stories of pain in the lives of their loved ones, but these are people that I don't directly know, and though I can share in the worries of my dear friend, I realize that I truly don't understand the heartache that they feel. 

In my hometown, I had something my friends and I liked to call the 'Amy Greenlee card.' I was goody-two-shoes to the core. So much so that parents of my friends would automatically allow their kids to do things and go places (when they may have originally been uncertain) just because I was going to be there. I was never the chaperone or anything like that, but they knew if I was doing that/ going there, their child wouldn't be doing anything with which they would disapprove. I was and still am perfectly comfortable with living my life that way. My good girl image wasn't a thing of pressure or a thing to be abused, but simply reality.

It was also a reality that I was never involved in drama. Since at least high school I've been known for my down-to-earth personality. It's easy for me to go with the flow, enjoy the simple things of life and not take it too seriously. This also means involving myself in petty arguments never really happened. Nothing was a big enough deal to fight about.

But maybe the good girl and anti-drama queen images weren't as great as I thought them to be. No, I don't suddenly want to dabble with all the craziness of life or start making mountains from mole-hills (in fact, I'm very content and proud of who I am) but I do want want to wear on my arms a statement like love and know that it's not just a word. I want to dig in the messiness of people's lives, be involved in their drama and share in their heartache. The impossibility of me living out the fullness of that word is impossible, I realize, but I hope to touch tragedy in such a way that unites me, the goody-two-shoes with the one who's redemption sings a beautiful song of mercy and grace. And the desire is that both of us together will push each other closer to the fullness that is found in Christ Jesus, and let his love cover all.