Somehow We Get There

Tonight I joined a couple of friends to see the Springs Ensemble Theatre production of Welcome Home, Jenny Sutter. It was an intense, incredibly well-cast play about the struggle of Marine Jenny Sutter to come to terms with where she’s been (Iraq) and try to find a way back home. A story about wondering if home is where it was when she left, if anyone could see the scars seared into her soul and her body, if people could look at her and ever see her as beautiful again.

It was a poignant, honest portrayal of what it’s like for some soldiers coming home from hot zones, trying to make sense of their lives, trying to interpret what they’ve been through in that surreal war zone that sometimes seems more real than the wonder bread context of "home."

And though Jenny is the main character– and the only one who has been to war- the other characters are dealing with their own trauma, they each have their own scars–external and internal that they intermittently try to control or deny, with only sweet moments of vulnerability in which the frightened, scarred person within them makes a desperate bid for connection with another.

It was a really well done performance and, laudably, there was information available for vets of wars from Iraq and Afghanistan to Vietnam and a list of resources to help veterans of any war come to terms with a reality that includes a past most of us can’t even begin to comprehend.

After sharing a few post-show comments with my friends and hugging them goodbye, I got into my car and drove out of the parking lot and turned right. Being directionally impaired, I quickly realized that I was probably going a longer route home than I needed to. So I opened up the nav screen of my car’s GPS, selected destination and punched on the tab that said, simply, home. Quickly the GPS consulted some satellite flying thousands of miles above and showed me the quickest way home.

I was thinking, as I drove, how cool it would be if there were some kind of soul GPS, some kind of heart guidance, into which we could simply push the tab that said home and it would navigate the easiest route for us, the route that would get us there the quickest. How amazing it would be if for veterans and those scarred by abuse or incest or other trauma; those who got seemingly irretrievably lost on a road we thought led to love, fulfillment, security, only to find ourselves instead blind-sided by pain and betrayal; orphaned by loss.

The British voice on my GPS confidently told me when to turn left and when to turn right– even gave me warnings as to how far before the next change would be. "In a quarter of a mile, turn right." I could get into the right lane, check the street name also helpfully shown on the display.

As I pulled up to my house the voice in the GPS said in a soothing voice, as if singing a lullaby, "You have arrived at your destination. Your route guidance is complete."

And yes, there was my house, with the lights blazing and the always smiling lawn gnome to welcome me home.

And as the voice stopped speaking the next song on my iPod queued up: Somehow We Get There by Melissa Ferrick. Stunned at the synchronicity of the moment, I turned off the engine and listened in the silence to the words of this home–sick song. The chorus reminded me that

But you know
Somehow we get there
Through the blind night
We got the white lines flashing past the tip of our headlights
Somehow we get there
From wherever we are
Somehow we get there
No matter how far


The reality of it is, there is no GPS for the soul, no heart guidance to get us to home, to tell us when we’ve arrived so we don’t pass by, thinking it only a rest area. There is no simple way for us to navigate our realities, to traverse the wide and rocky terrain that waits before us when we get lost. Still, I took comfort from the words of this song. That if we just keep traveling, if we just keep stumbling along. If we feel the pain of the moment and live fully into that without trying to deny or repress it, if we can welcome with open arms the joy that shows up, the unexpected graces that bless us on the journey, somehow we will get there, we will find our home. We will, if we pay attention, know when we’ve arrived without some artificial voice telling us.

Maybe, we don’t have GPS, but we do have a compass. The compass of love and compassion, the compass of hope and faith– faith in ourselves, in the road, in the reality of a home we have not yet seen or can only distantly remember. And, if we can just follow the true north of our beating heart, I really do believe that somehow we will get there. Blessings on your journey.

Somehow We Get There

by Melissa Ferrick from CD Willing to Wait, 1995

Well I'm searching for somethin'
That I can't reach
So I whisper your name
In my sleep

N' time it isn't giving me
The space that I need
But you know at this pace
I don't think
I can
Pull into the lead

Forgiving myself is too simple too hard
There's got to be another way
To stop this car

But you know
Somehow we get there
Through the blind night
We got the white lines flashing past the tip of our headlights
Somehow we get there
From wherever we are
Somehow we get there
No matter how far

'Cause I can't Carry this around anymore
It's getting heavier with age
It is the boulder in my stomach
It's the avalanche in my veins

So let's leave it behind
I want to bury it beside the road
I will sit there until it comes out of me
I'll be freezing in the summer desert cold

But you know
Somehow we get there
Through the blind night
We got the white lines flashing past the tips of our head lights
Somehow we get there
From wherever we are
Somehow we get there
No matter how far

So hold my head
While I rock
Myself back to sleep
And I tell you that I am not easy
And you tell me that I am
Sweet