“Until the day when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words—‘Wait and hope.’”

-Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

52“I have been hunted like a bird

       by those who were my enemies without cause;

53 they flung me alive into the pit

54 water closed over my head;

55 “I called on your name, O

    from the depths of the pit;

56 you heard my plea, ‘Do not close

    your ear to my cry for help!’

57 You came near when I called on you;

58 “You have taken up my cause, O Lord;

    you have redeemed my life.

    and cast stones on me;

    I said, ‘I am lost.’

    you said, ‘Do not fear!’

Lamentations 3:52-58

Medieval dungeons oftentimes were used to persecute the innocent. The oubliette, or “forgotten place,” reminded its inhabitants of being buried alive. Isolated and without light, prisoners clawed the air, beat against the stone, slept upon the dirt for innumerable nights. Many never saw daylight again. Others retreated to insanity, the safety of mental exile. The few who emerged from beneath a castle’s underbelly likely feared intimacy.

Others like Edmond Dantès fought against humanity. As the Count of Monte Cristo, Dantès exacted revenge, an outlet for his rage, a rectification of his banishment. What he discovered by the story’s end, however, was that only God brings justice. And herein rests the holy secret that revolves throughout history, as it is buried and uncovered and brought back to life: we may be plucked apart by circumstances or the cruelty of others—feather by feather, birds left shivering upon abandoned earth—but until we breathe our last, our stories are not over.

 

It’s the revolution of redemption: over and again, an uncountable grace, the Lord dignifies us with his strategy. He fights for the exiled, the inconsolable, the wounded, the lonely. He leads usto families—whether natural or adopted—and we discover treasure.

If we stay, we recognize in these communities our uniqueness, how we contribute what no one else can; we find solidarity, the matchless comfort of knowing we are not alone. We are undone in how disorienting it is to be known: do we present our true selves, the vulnerable versions, or do we masquerade and hope no one is watching when we take off the façade? Can we face life unafraid?

We’ll understand that little need remain masked when we’re surrounded by those who love us, yet who will not leave us as we are.

 

And herein stands the mystery of community: though we may have been plucked apart, feather by feather, we are brought together to reclaim that which has been lost. Alone, in a forgotten place, we cannot see ourselves for who we are.

It takes the eyes of others to help us see ourselves entirely. And if we let them, if we push past fear, we emerge into the wonder of God’s freedom, where we overcome that which exiled us to begin with, and end our stories complete.

Prism Women welcomes you to our community; may you find the wisdom and strength here to build your own.