In my final sermon at the second church I served as pastor, I talked about roots and tendrils. I have lived so many places and moved so many times, that I don’t have roots in one geographic place. There is no one location I can point to and say “This is where I’m from.” Instead, I feel like I have a tendril, or one root, in each place. A few years after that sermon, I came across this book, “The Invisible String,” and it illustrated how I feel about my tendrils and roots all over the world.
The story is about a mother and her twin school age children. The children get scared during a thunderstorm one night and want to be with their mother. She tells them this story, based on the story the author used to tell her son when dropping him off at preschool. The story is about how we are all connected by an invisible string, even when we can’t see each other. We are always connected to everyone we love, no matter where in the world we are, or even out of this world and an astronaut in space. In a particularly poignant scene, one child asks if the string reaches all the way to his uncle in heaven. The mother answers, “Yes, even there.” She explains that the string does not go away when you’re mad at each other and it will not go away as you get older. As long as love is in your heart, the string will always be there, and no one is ever truly alone.
While the one page about the string reaching even to heaven has caused this book to often be categorized under “grief,” it really deals with separation anxiety of any kind, at any age. To put it in the “how to help children cope with death” category feels far too narrow. We all need reminding from time to time that we are not alone, that we are connected, even when apart, that love is more powerful than anger. It is comforting to me to remember that there are invisible strings of love all over the world. It makes love feel tangible, and it looks like how I always imagined all of my tendrils, with a hook dug in in each community where I’ve lived and worked.
Even when I feel uprooted, even when I feel unsure about the future, even when I feel called to plant a new root, or make new connections, I know that I am not alone. We do not enter the unknown by ourselves. We carry with us our connections to all the people we love. We bring with us our strengths and weaknesses and gifts and skills and lifetimes of experiences. Even uprooted, we are not blank slates. It may seem like you are by yourself. You may have to call a friend to hear a warm voice. But the connection, the invisible string, is still there. Tug on the string, and chances are, you’ll feel a tug back. The Divine, I believe, is also always with you. That’s another string to tug on, although it may not tug back exactly how you expect it to. So, release your expectations. Be present on your threshold, facing the unknown with all that you already are. You’re already a whole person. You already have experiences and skills. You already have thousands of invisible strings connecting you to people all over the world. You have people who love you and support you. You have people to call, more than you know. Sometimes, it can be hard to offer help. More often, it can be hard to accept it. Do both, because no one is ever truly alone.