Witnessed
“He said to me I was a tree in a story about a forest,
and that it was arrogant of me to believe any differently.
And he told me the story of the forest is better
than the story of the tree.
~Donald Miller”
Their names were Barry, Steve, and Kathy. They were my witnesses.
There was something I needed to release, a worry I had been carrying this past couple of weeks. I had journaled it through and held it in prayer, but when I woke up this morning its shadow was still present over me and I knew there was more to do. It occurred to me to walk the labyrinth at the local college, just down the street from where I would drop my son off for his cello lesson later in the morning, and, trusting the nudges as I’ve learned to do, I made an intention to walk the worry out.
I wrote my worry on an index card and put some matches in my purse, drove my son to his lesson, and found a parking spot near the bottom of the grassy hill where the labyrinth was located. Still a short distance away, I noticed the others at the labyrinth. Drawn as I am to a solo labyrinth walk, on another day I might have turned and left, but I knew I was meant to be there this morning. And that somehow they were too.
Barry, a homeless man who had brought his coffee and his bag of personal items to sit on a bench at the outer edge of the stone labyrinth path, met my eye and I wished him good morning with a smile. Steve and Kathy, a retired couple who came to plant bulbs around the perimeter, introduced themselves to me and we exchanged small talk. They asked if I was there to walk the labyrinth, and Steve even offered to clear the path of leaves. I assured him that since the path in life is not always clear, I was fine with a cluttered path here as well.
I entered the labyrinth and breathed.
There was something special this morning on that walk. Maybe it was the shed leaves that reminded me of my purpose; maybe it was the new life Steve and Kathy were planting in the ground beside me as I followed the winding way around, life that would sleep until spring; maybe it was Barry sipping his coffee and watching me turn, and turn, and turn, telling me that he likes to draw mazes and has since he was twelve; maybe it was the busy college students making their way to class, looking down at their devices absentmindedly and passing us by. I had a sense that time slowed and the Holy was holding us all.
When I got to the center of the labyrinth, I knelt down, and took out the matches and the index card. It took three matches to completely burn the paper on this breezy day, but that, too, felt right, as this had been a tenacious worry. Sometimes we need to let go more than once, or twice, or even a hundred times. I watched the ash blow away and made my way out, picking up a red leaf to replace the paper I had burned away.
When I was getting ready to leave, Steve asked if I was letting go of something. He said he had something he’s been needing to release and now he knew how he would do it. He pointed to one of the empty benches and said he had given it in memory of his late wife, and how they had met here on campus in the music department her freshman year decades ago. We share that love of music, and I told him so.
I said my goodbyes to Steve and Kathy and Barry– my witnesses– and I walked away, tears coming unexpectedly as I was overcome by emotion. It was the story of the forest, all of us together, sharing the holiness of the moment. In this brief half hour of connection I was reminded of the sacraments of being alive, of community, of shared tenderness. I witnessed the divine in my three labyrinth companions, and they witnessed it in me.