Trouble on the Parade Route
Why, God, do you turn a deaf ear? Why do you make yourself scarce? Psalm 88:14, The Message
When I was eleven years old, I was asked to ride a horse in a parade. Charismatic, poised, and truly a graceful child, I knew much of my life had been leading up to that moment. My destiny was to become beloved, legendary, adored even, heralded as a modern day Joan of Arc.
Then I got the news.
I wasn’t going to get to ride in the parade. Because the event took place on a Sunday morning, during church, my mom wasn’t allowing me to participate.
Dismounted from my dream, I became hysterical. I fell into my bed, face down, and I cried for an entire day. I’d think about the smell of the horse and see the eyes of my public below, and I’d scream out in agony. When I had gained some strength, I’d sit up in my bed and practice waving to miles and miles of applause, and I’d collapse back into my bed in ruins.
In a wild swing of dream-to-devastation the horse had been ripped out from under me, and I was riding the rancid reality of grief.
I pleaded with my mom, reasoned with her, and when those strategies failed me, I threatened her, and even insulted her. But I knew. I knew the whole gig was up before it even began, and I was shattered as only an eleven-year-old girl who was going to ride a horse in a parade could be shattered.
The girl inside me was sad to lose the attention, but the human inside me was sad to lose the dream of being seen.
I felt forgotten, and I felt forgettable. What could be worse?
Psalm 88, a Psalm of great devastation, is the song of the forgotten, the song of all of us who have cried out from our bed of anguish and asked why we couldn’t be the one, why—just this once—we couldn’t be the one who got the really good thing.
Coming from a girl who thought she had missed her moment, maybe in the very same way that you’re feeling like you may have missed yours, I want you to know you’re not alone.
If you’re feeling forgotten today, if you’re feeling like the whole world is riding high and you’re lying low, I get it. I think the guy who wrote Psalm 88 gets it. On the good days, I believe God gets it too. And that’s something. It’s not a horse or a parade or an adoring crowd that follows you for miles. But, friend, knowing that someone else just might see you in your need, that is really something.
Leeana Tankersley