Elusive hope

Sometimes . . . we can be torn between our compelling needs to grieve and to protect the feelings of the people we love.

Sometimes . . . the endearing, carefree mask a person wears hides a brokenness he can never escape.

Sometimes . . . recognizing the undeniable truth of his brokenness can feel as if we are making excuses for his dreadful choices, even though we intend no such thing.

Sometimes . . . someone we love and trust inexplicably hurts us or others we love, in ways that no one would dare deny us our right to wrap ourselves around in our determination to keep him from ever hurting us again.

Sometimes . . . the injury that a person inflicts on one we love utterly eclipses our respect and compassion for them.

Sometimes . . . the path of love and mercy is to forgive the unforgivable, not ever granting approval to those hurtful acts but choosing as often as we must to let go of the pain and to desire the best for him.

Sometimes . . . the equally undeniable truth that our clinging - our determined self- and other-protection - now serves only to keep us bound to our hurt can feel like just one more burden on our already sagging shoulders, the straw that will surely break our back.

Sometimes . . . our only hope is to ask God to do in us that to which we cannot aspire for ourselves, and thereby to set us free at last.

God, please grant grace - undeserved, unfathomable grace - to my late cousin's tormented soul, and peace to our own hearts.