The War Inside

The war inside almost overwhelmed me. I stood facing two of my closest brothers as they created a physical barrier between me and the car door. With determination in their eyes, they stood their ground. It was clear, I would not win this battle.

The war was not one against sin, though my friends have valiantly fought that with me as well. No, this time, I was deep in the trenches of my own story.

You see, I grew up in a home where I was given the roles of protector, steward and "holder" of all things emotional and relational. I have come to name this aspect of my story the "linch pin," the piece of metal that bears the weight of connection between two heavy things. As a boy, I learned it was my responsibility to stand in the gap, sacrifice my own needs, and make sure others were well cared for. But on this day, these two men weren't having it.

Over the past year, my mother has descended into the fog of dementia. Her condition has worsened significantly in the past few months, and we are preparing for her departure from this earth. Naturally, as the linch pin, I hold much of the burden now, and will when the time comes to say goodbye. And in the past few months, the places I myself have been "held" have been few.

This particular day, after being together playing in the mountains, the sun began to set and the needs of the evening sat before me. One need involved caring for and holding a group we had left back at our base, and the other involved taking care of some logistics that would included a 3 hour drive in the opposite direction. Up till this point, my two friends knew I had been fulfilling the linch pin role the entire weekend, and they determined together that things would shift.

"We've got this," one said. "Go get in that car [the 3 hour drive car] with him and spend some time together. There are others who can hold things together while you are gone."

In that moment, I hated them.

I hated their resistance. I hated being told what to do. I hated the burden that my absence would put on others without warning. "But what about...?" "But I need to..." "But I'm afraid that..." I was convinced they had no clue all that needed to be done, and that I was the only linch pin who could serve in that capacity.

But more deeply, I hated the need I had to be cared for. I hated the whole thing, and I let them know.

And then I said, "Ok guys. I submit." And I got in the car driving away from camp, leaving the linch pin responsibilities to others. Those three hours ended up being the best of the whole weekend, and I received from my friend the care, curiosity, compassion, and clarity I so desperately needed with regard to my family but was too entrenched in my story to see. But they saw and resisted my story on my behalf. And I'm grateful.

Men, true brothers get in the way. They get in the way of the unconscious story re-enactments we are too blind to see. They get in the way of self-perpetuating harm. They disrupt the stories that we have come to live and believe, and join us in the process of restoration. Brothers who know our stories and get in the way of evil are God's most powerful agents of goodness on earth.

Are you such a brother to others? Do you have men who will fight the battle with you?