Letter to readers from all the years
Published 8:21 pm Wednesday, July 26, 2017
On the floor beside my desk is a large box full of LaGrange Daily Newspapers. It surprises me how many columns I have written in almost two years. However, the best surprise is when I hear from a few of you who read them and take the time to write a note or two.
Often on social media, my friends as well as strangers, comment or hit the “like” icon when I post a story. Some dear friends and family share the articles. Some correct my grammar, tell me I got a fact or two wrong, or worse, never say a word.
However, the articles that garner the most attention are the ones where my heart and soul are poured and formed into black and white print.
Last week my article, “A Prescription for the Blues Brothers” evoked a lot of responses. I heard from people telling me I was brave and transparent for writing it.
The same was true after I wrote an article a while back, “No Fear of the Shadow”. It was my own personal story of my lifelong struggle with clinical depression.
The truth is there is no bravery involved in writing my stories. The truth is that they are just the truth.
Stories about hardships and struggles that I face in my life seem to help others understand their own.
I figured a long time ago, that if more people would share truths instead of attempting to cover them up, the world would be a lot better off.
We often live in our plastic worlds with our plastic charge cards and fake purses. We take our pain and bury it under a rug because we want our neighbors to think we’re perfect. I have often thought, “Why?”
No one is perfect. We each have our crosses to bear. To carry them we must find someone we trust to help pull the rug up and shake out our pain. In my life, God was usually the one who made me clean house.
It breaks my heart when I hear from some of you who are struggling with grief, fear, anxiety, or depression. It makes me angry when I see folks get caught up in the minutia of life and not get to the heart of living. It takes facing our fears and getting help from others when we need it. The word “shame” is not used in the definition of “help.”
We cannot buy or play our way out of pain. We cannot stay too long in sorrow or grief. We cannot find escape in a bottle or in pills. We cannot teach our children that life is to be lived on the surface and to avoid suffering one must sweep all of life under the rug or buy another purse.
I send my articles each week to a handful of friends and family. Every now and then an old friend will respond. It always makes me happy when I see his name pop up on my computer. He writes about two sentences and I have learned that is all to expect. I have never written just two sentences in my life!
“Lynn, always write from your heart,” he wrote one day. It was a response to an article I had written about my mother that he knew was from my heart. \I see his words every time I sit at my computer to write a weekly story.
When I write from my heart I bare my soul. Some of it is difficult, not pretty, quite messy, and some of my words are found under the proverbial rug.
The good news about the stuff that we shuffle under the rug is this:
When we shake it out and share it we just never know how many true friends we will find, or how much love we will stir up, or how many people we will inspire to do the same.
The heart of living is found in the stuff under the rug. We can find forgiveness and courage.
We find things not made of plastic, but made of soul that cannot be bought. It is the place where we find God’s hands and the place where we journey into the heart of life.
To you, my dear friends, that are struggling or suffering in silence let me tell you that you don’t need to. The neighbor that lives right next door, or the minister at your church, the friend that loves you, or the God that is sitting on your couch staring at your rug, wants to help you.
They will encourage you to shake out that pain and get you back to the heart of living.
Thank you for you. You all are sweet blessings to this old soul.
Lynn Walker Gendusa is a former resident and writer who currently resides in Roswell. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org