In my wildest dreams, I would not have guessed I knew so many people who would happily get in bed with the KKK. I would never have guessed I would find friends supporting someone who boasted about assaulting women.
I feel as though I have walked into a Salvador Dali painting or an episode of the “Twilight Zone.”
I don’t know if I will ever get past the denial stage of the overwhelming grief which consumes me. I don’t know if I want to. If the intensity of my grief is any indication, the anger unleashed were I to move beyond denial could be incredibly destructive. My tongue remembers how to cut to the bone; that’s part of the legacy of growing up with verbal abuse — I know how to wound with words.
Last night, as I continued binge-watching “Bones,” a delightful, good-always-triumphs-over-evil television series (which, sadly is ending just when we need its hopeful message most), I decided my next knitting project will be a technicolor dream shawl. I purchased some variegated yarn a while back to make slouch hats for a family member who was undergoing chemo, and have some yarn left. I realized I could use it to knit a crazy shawl as a quiet act of protest.
The shawl would remind me of “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” and the hope it gave me through one dark winter.
Theater had not been part of my life before I was assigned to review performances at the Black Hills Playhouse in South Dakota’s Custer State Park. I had attended a couple performances when I was young, in the pre-wireless microphone days, and couldn’t hear enough of the dialogue to enjoy them (one of the disadvantages of having a hearing disability).
Wireless mikes changed my experience, and amazing performances at the Playhouse enchanted me. I didn’t realize, though, until months later how deeply the psyche can be affected by theater.
One of the performances I saw (more than once) was Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.” In the months that followed, when my granddaughter was abused at daycare and was hospitalized as a result, when I found myself unable to find work after leaving a workplace due to bullying, when I watched people I loved deal with difficult situations, I found myself over and over humming songs from “Joseph” and finding comfort in those songs.
Remembering “Joseph” also helped me to remember the story of Joseph from the Bible (Genesis 37, 39-47). He was sold by his brothers! He was falsely accused of rape and imprisoned; he was forgotten by someone he helped to gain freedom. Year after year, he was pounded by adversity — but in the end, God lifted him up.
In the end. I must remember this is not the end. I must remember that dark is not dark (Psalm 139:12) to the God who is love. I must remember that all the dark times in history have passed and this will, too.
To help me remember, I will knit, and to help me remember, I will wrap my shawl around me like hope. To help me remember — because remembrance is all some of us will have in the coming days. Remembrance and faith in a God who is love.