Today’s blog post has been on my heart to write for the last few weeks. It’s not meant for everyone to read. Some of you will not connect at all, and some of you will connect right away.

If I had to pinpoint the audience that I’m writing this for, it would be those who sit in the back row or hide away in the balcony when they visit a church. Maybe you’re one of these people and know exactly what I mean. You’re the one whose heart is broken in pieces, but often feels like you don’t fit in when going to church because everyone around you looks so “put together”. If you’ve ever slipped in late, sat in the back row or hid in the balcony, only to leave early, this is my New Year’s card to you.

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While in college, I visited a certain tree every day. It was the largest tree at the park, looming over every thing else, as if keeping a watchful eye.

During the summer I would take my favorite book and blanket and fall asleep reading, lulled by the song of the tree’s dancing leaves. In the fall I would gather the fallen red leaves and hang them up at home in the windows of my small apartment. And then one spring I went away for several weeks. This was the spring I checked myself into a psychiatric ward in CA.

For those of you who don’t know, a bit of background is necessary. Before becoming a photographer, I was a writer. Before becoming a dedicated writer, I had experienced being raped. During this experience, I hit a point of being so low that I felt I had no other way out but to check myself into a psychiatric ward. It was the toughest and best thing I ever did. There isn’t a day that goes by when I am not thankful for the lessons learned in the hospital. But at the time, I only felt pain.

When I was released from the clinic, I was told my best friend had committed suicide. The tragic news ate away at my own desire to live, and I began to sink to a low that was dark and lonely. I had nowhere to go. One day I went back to the tree.

I’ll never forget the morning. It was a cold morning, with frost on the ground and a bitterness biting at me. I saw the tree from a distance. It was all alone, barren, and exposed to the cold wind. Without even thinking if anyone was watching, I ran to the tree and screamed at it. I told the tree I hated every thing about it. How dare the tree stand there in the wind, naked and alone. How dare the tree look so dead. How dare the tree mirror me.

I went up to it and with both hands broken one of its branches. There was a part of me that wanted to destroy the tree, destroy me. But when I fell to the hard ground, hot tears began to burn down my face. I was so tired, so empty. And that’s when I noticed it. It was only the size of a ballpoint, but it was there. A small circle of green in the middle of the branch. I broke the branch again, and yes, the green was running through the center still. The tree was alive despite how dead it looked on the outside. Could I be living too on the inside, despite how barren I was on the outside? Could I actually be growing, preparing for a new season of life that would bring a new color and fullness I had not yet known. I was scared to hope. I took the branch with me and carried it underneath the front seat of my car for the next two years.

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A couple weeks ago, Brian and I took the kids to our college pastors retirement party. Ed and Carolyn, they were life savors during many season of our own barrenness.

Carolyn said she and Ed watched the DVD series, and she felt like a proud parent. Then she started to cry (which of course made me cry). She said, “Me Ra, when I finished watching the first DVD and all the interviews of you and Brian, I looked at Ed and said, I will never forget the sound of wailing in the balcony. A cry of pain so deep, the whole church sat silent as God moved. That was you Me Ra, so much pain and yet you are still here with all this around you.”

There were many more Sundays to follow where I would cry. I remember being afraid that if I ever started to cry, I would never stop. And yet, the familiar, safe whisper came that says, “But still, we must start Me Ra. We must start.”

I hope I have not been to disclosing with you, I can’t say I didn’t warn you in the beginning of the post. But the truth is that the last few weeks I have been going through my day and certain faces will come to mind. Faces I have met and some I have never met. Faces with the same look I had when I went and yelled at my tree. I know in my heart that some of these faces are your faces.

I see myself kneeling beside your barren tree and praying you will find strength to stand despite the cold winds. I pray you will hold on until you experience the deep healing of your shame being covered and your nakedness no longer exposed. I pray you will somehow know growth is happening inside, even though you feel as if you look dead to the world.

My dear, nameless friend, you are not dead. You are very much alive, and I am holding a vigil in my heart for you.

Pain is suffocating, but if you hear any thing I say, hear me when I say pain passes. Every storm passes. Some leaves us with scars and much grief, but the storm, the cold, bitter storm does calm down.

If I had a verse to give to you for 2008, it would be the following;

“I shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; and whatever she does shall prosper.” Psalm 1:3

You will be this tree.

This April 2008 will be my 15 year anniversary since being released from the clinic. I’m drafting out a new book that has the working title “30 Lessons Learned in the Psych Ward.” It is a wonderful project, my own personal project.

2008 has already unveiled wonderful things Brian and I can’t wait to share. But if it’s encouraging…before the wonderful things, before feeling the verse come true “whatever she does shall prosper”, there was the wailing in the balcony.

There were days I screamed at a barren tree in a public park. There was the day I voluntarily checked myself in, heard double doors lock behind me, with a sign that read Psychiatric Ward. Had I really gone crazy? Would I ever not feel crazy inside? Would I ever stop crying. These are not skeletons for me but places of incredible growth that I’m so fortunate to share with you.

This is the truth. You will be your own tree. Your will bring forth fruit, beautiful, unique fruit, in your season. Your leaves will no longer wither. You will be planted by the waters.

I hold this promise for you and walk into 2008.