By my side

In college, my freshman roommate and I used to prop my microphone up on a music stand, get out her guitar, and record ourselves singing. One of our favorites was “By My Side,” from the musical Godspell:

Where are you going?
Where are you going?
Can you take me with you?
For my hand is cold
And needs warmth
Where are you going?

Far beyond where the horizon lies
Where the horizon lies
And the land sinks into mellow blueness
Oh please, take me with you

Let me skip the road with you
I can dare myself
I can dare myself
I’ll put a pebble in my shoe
And watch me walk (watch me walk)
I can walk and walk!
(I can walk!)

I shall call the pebble Dare
I shall call the pebble Dare
We will talk, we will talk together
We will talk (chorus) about walking
Dare shall be carried
And when we both have had enough
I will take him from my shoe, singing:
“Meet your new road!”
Then I’ll take your hand
Finally glad
Finally glad
That you are here
By my side

I find the lyrics puzzling but beautiful — some glimpse of the struggle it is to walk in this darkness, the striving to perform on our own power, the final gladness of the warmth of Christ’s own hand.

I thought about this song the other day because I was realizing that I need to be on Amy’s side when she is screaming. We should not be antagonists; even efforts to stop her crying can be antagonistic rather than sympathetic. It’s one thing to realize this (and I thank the books and people who keep reminding me of it), but it’s another thing to do. I’m not sufficiently strong and secure in my self to defeat the feelings of rejection, attackedness, inadequacy, guilt, and so on, so as to be a security for her, a safe place for her to feel her feelings.

When I am in darkness, when I am in agony, like Amy seems to be when she is screaming, Jesus doesn’t stand with a pointing finger to accuse me or demand better performance, nor does he abandon me until I’ve fixed myself, and, most disappointingly, nor does he fix me himself. He will; he’s in the process; but in this life it seems that process mostly involves him being by my side — sympathetic and compassionate; secure and strong enough to handle the intensity of my feelings.

Mark and I both need a lot of work on learning to tolerate each other’s (and Amy’s) feelings. To be less threatened by them. To feel less accused by them. To feel less responsible to fix them. To be more able to be by each other’s side rather than facing off as antagonists. I think our difficulties with tolerating feelings is the main reason why evenings and nights tend to get into crisis — one feels tired, the other notices and gets anxious, the one feels bad about showing their tiredness but wishes the other didn’t overreact, the other feels bad about overreacting but isn’t able to stop, and so we escalate.

Lord Jesus, please may I know more deeply how you are by my side, and may that knowledge, and your power, work in me so that I can be by my own side, by Mark’s side, and by Amy’s side.