The Walking Stick Journal

Stepping Stones of Transformation

An unfolding manuscript

by

C.D. Baker

Introduction: Entering Shadowlands

Beloved Sojourner, 

You and I are about to walk together through shadows, and the path ahead will get very dark. I know because I have already been there. But do not be afraid because darkness is never the whole story.

I have been urged by others to share sequential excerpts of my journal that was gathered through six years of Dark Night. I confess a certain resistance; my journey is personal and sometimes embarrassing. But I was reminded that I was not given bread to feed just myself.

So here we are. What follows is true, all of it. I have only edited what is necessary for clarity or discretion, though I may add some bracketed sections to keep it coherent or to offer brief commentary. 

I want to emphasize that this is not only about me; I would not write it if it were. No, I have learned that we all share the same Story, one of a good God who longs to awaken each of us to become whom we already are: beloved and whole and safe and embraced by him. What follows is simply how that experience of awakening manifested in my life. 

Many have endured much more darkness than I have; some have endured less. It does not matter, for we each can only take the journey we have been given. In the end, my sole desire is that your shadows might walk with mine so that the Christ-Light we have been given will heal us, together.

***

You and I have backstories. Whatever place you are standing in right now is rich with your collection of time’s gifts that, if allowed to be felt, contribute to your present. And so before we begin, I need to share the four proximate events that pushed me onto the path that awaits: 

In 2014 a dear friend of mine, Tim, lost a courageous battle against a terrible, hateful disease that I refuse to dignify with its name. I will only ever refer to it as (It). What I witnessed in his suffering was chilling, claustrophobic and anxious-making. If that were not enough, he asked his pastor to baptize him just days before his death. The Baptist minister refused that supreme comfort, telling Tim that his condition would not accommodate full immersion in the church’s tank, but that “Jesus knows your heart.” The whole of Tim’s story delivered the reality of Evil to my doorstep.

In 2016 my father died at the good age of 88. He had been a dependable shield against the world for me in his own way. I found myself becoming uneasy soon after his death, and that unease gave rise to an unexpected state of generalized anxiety.

Then, during the spring of 2017 I visited a friend in the Netherlands whose wife, Willy, was stricken by the same horror as Tim. The close specter of (It) felt threatening. While there, I was taken horseback riding and–having some proficiency as a rider– given a troubled horse who had been throwing riders. Slamming to the ground, I ended up in a Dutch hospital where deep-night fears pressed my faith.  

In July of that same year, I experienced some odd symptoms and met with a specialist. After a brief exam, he looked at me and casually blurted, “Well, you might have (It).” A traumatizing chill spread through the whole of me. I could barely breathe. Numb, I scheduled some tests.

After what had gone before, the doctor’s pronouncement became a trigger. He was soon proven wrong, but his words had done their wounding work. Traumatizing thoughts now began a non-stop assault against my shaken Self–the defensive false ego that I had built over a lifetime. Sadness and fear and evil and lies had set their trap . . . but the Spirit was ready to redeem. 

My journey had begun.

***

June, 2018

Reluctantly but dutifully, I met Dr. M today. He wants to be called ‘Bill.’ Seeing a psychologist is humbling but I guess I need some advice. I told him I’d give him a try for a few months. I hope three will do it.

I started by telling him I had what I thought was an exaggerated fear of death coupled with a growing anxiety from the stuff of the past few years, especially the threat of (It). I asked if that sequence was enough to make me so anxious. 

“Yes.” He then asked about my injuries and asked if I hit my head. 

I said, “No. But it was like someone had caught it. I only felt my head barely touch the grass.”

He answered that that wasn’t possible, given seven broken ribs, a split pelvis, a fractured shoulder, a fractured vertebra, and a punctured lung. He then said, “Your story is exceptional and this should not be missed. You are loved.”

The ‘you are loved’ touched something.

Forty-five minutes went by quickly. We’ll see if this goes anywhere. I’m already exhausted…