I once was dealt a major injustice. It was all I could think about, all I could talk about; the fact that this person did me so wrong and got away with it with seemingly no consequences ate me alive for years. Literally, for years.
One day I was on a hike, raging at the sky, torn between being so sick of talking about this thing but also afraid that if I didn’t keep talking about it, everyone would forget the truth – because injustice demands a witness.
I rarely claim to hear from God – and when I do, it’s never an audible voice. The best I can describe the way that God speaks to me is as a “pressing into,” like a mold into Play-Doh; I suspect God knows me well enough to understand I need a message I can feel. So there I was on the trail, suddenly experiencing that felt sense of the divine presence passing over and pressing in, meeting me in the midst of my fear of the truth being forgotten with a promise:
“Give it to me, and I will remember.”
I have taken so much comfort in that promise. The truth never stops being the truth, even when blind eyes are turned and damage-doers get away with it, even when those who we should be able to trust fall short, or prove themselves to be cowards. The truth is known. It’s remembered. We have a witness.
Anyway, I’m in DC right now, impeachment central, and I’m thinking about these things for, oh, no reason. Goodnight. [throws phone into the Reflecting Pool]