The Shack

A Prelude to the Unfathomable

Dear Reader, I know not what winds have carried this letter to your hands, nor through what trials and tribulations you have walked to find yourself here, in this shared moment of connection. My name is Mackenzie Allen Phillips, but you can call me Mack.

Our stories may be different, etched by unique pains and joys, but I believe there's a thread that binds us—a longing for understanding, for meaning amidst the inexplicable. I've traversed through an abyss, stumbled upon solace, and emerged - somehow - carrying a light I'm compelled to share with you.

Come, sit with me by the fireside of my memories, and let's converse as old friends, for you might find reflections of yourself in the embers of my tale. It began with an unspeakable loss, a darkness that consumed what once was light in my life.

My youngest daughter, Missy, was abducted during a family camping trip. The search led to a dilapidated shack in the Oregon wilderness, where evidence of her brutal murder was found.

This shack became the embodiment of my deepest sorrow, a monument to the day my soul seemed to wither and die. You, too, may have known such sorrow, felt it gnaw your insides like a relentless parasite.

It's in these caverns of despair that our most profound questions are born, the echoes of "why" and "how" that seem to mock our need for answers. Perhaps you're holding this letter because you, too, have lost something—someone irreplaceable.

Or maybe it's the loss of something less tangible: innocence, hope, or the belief that life is just. Whatever it may be, I see you.

I understand the gravity of your pain, the weight that drags your feet and clouds your eyes. But if you'd grant me a little more of your time, I'd like to share with you a journey—a journey that, against all odds, transformed my shack of horrors into a sanctuary of healing.

The Invitation to the Unknown

Years passed, and the shack remained untouched, a forsaken place that haunted my every waking moment and slithered into my dreams. That was until one winter morning, when the snow lay thick upon the ground, and the world was muffled in its hush.

An envelope lay on my doorstep, no tracks or signs of delivery, just the stark paper against the white. It bore my name, in handwriting that trembled my heart—an invitation back to the shack from Papa, the affectionate name my Missy had given to God.

The absurdity of it! The sheer, impossible notion that I could face that place again, let alone that the Divine would care to meet me there. You may have received such invitations in your life, subtle beckonings towards the places you fear the most.

It's easier to dismiss them, to stay within the realm of the known, even if it's steeped in bitterness. Yet, something within me stirred—a flicker of curiosity, or perhaps the whisper of hope that refused to be fully extinguished.

I could not ignore the call. And so, I found myself drawn back to the scene of my nightmare, each mile a battle between the urge to flee and the pull to press on.

What is it that you're avoiding, my friend? What shack stands decrepit in the corners of your mind, housing the ghosts of your past? I wouldn't presume to know your suffering or your secrets, but I see the courage in your eyes—the courage that's brought you this far in my letter and in your life. Allow me to take your hand and continue this journey together, for the steps we take towards confronting our deepest fears are where our truest strength lies.

The Encounter

When I arrived, the shack was not as I remembered. Instead of the cold, abandoned shell, it was warm, alive, a home that seemed to breathe with an otherworldly glow.

And there I was met by three individuals: Papa, a large, African American woman with a radiant smile; Jesus, a Middle Eastern carpenter with gentle eyes; and Sarayu, an ethereal presence, as delicate and vibrant as the wind. The shock of it all! To think that God, the Creator, would take on such unexpected forms to meet me in my anguish.

Perhaps you scoff at the notion, as I would have, not long ago. The idea that in our darkest moments, we are not alone—that there is a Presence willing to sit with us in our pain, to break bread with our brokenness.

It's a bold thought that challenges the very fibers of our understanding. But in that shack, I was challenged to see beyond the limits of my pain, to encounter Love in a way I had never known before.

Your encounters may not be as mine, and that is okay. Maybe you've felt a gentle peace in a moment of despair, a hand on your shoulder when you've felt utterly alone, or a word spoken in season that carried you through the day.

These are your encounters, the whispers of something greater amidst the cacophony of life. And as I shared meals with these three, as I listened and wrestled with them, I felt the icy grip of my bitterness begin to thaw.

Forgiveness and the Great Sadness

Papa spoke to me of forgiveness. Not as a demand, but as a path to freedom.

The Great Sadness, as Papa called the darkness that had enshrouded me, fed on my resentment, my inability to release the man who had torn my world apart. Forgiveness seemed like betrayal, like saying that what happened to Missy was acceptable.

But as Papa gently explained, it was not about excusing the act—it was about liberating my soul from the chains of vengeance that bound it. You too may have such chains, my friend.

They may not be born of tragedy as mine were, but they can restrain you all the same. Grudges, regrets, the words left unsaid—these are the weights we carry, often without realizing how they anchor us to our pain.

Forgiveness is a journey, often a long and arduous one, but it is also a release. I cannot tell you how to walk this path, but I can share that when I chose to forgive, I did not forget Missy, nor did I diminish the wrong done.

Instead, I honored her memory by choosing to heal, to reclaim the joy that was once ours. The act of forgiveness is a delicate dance between the heart and the mind, a balance between justice and grace.

It's not a single moment of epiphany but a series of steps, sometimes forward, sometimes back, as we navigate the complexities of our hurts. And as I took those steps, I realized that forgiveness was not just for the other, but for myself as well.

It was permission to stop being the judge and the victim, to start being just Mack, a man with wounds but also with the capacity to love and be loved.

The Deep Waters of Relationship

Jesus invited me to join him on the lake, a serene expanse that mirrored the sky. There, on the waters, he challenged my notions of trust and control.

As I attempted to walk on the water, I found that it wasn't about the miraculous act itself, but about where I placed my focus. When I looked at Jesus, I stayed afloat; when I looked at the storm inside me, I sank.

It was a powerful metaphor for the relationships in my life, for the way I interacted with my family, my friends, and even with myself. How often do we focus on the tempests that rage within us, my friend? The insecurities, the doubts, the fears that we are not enough—that we will fail, that we will fall? Jesus showed me that it's not about being immune to these storms, but about choosing where to cast our gaze.

In the moments when we focus on love, on the connections that bind us to one another, we find a buoyancy that transcends our inner turmoil. We learn to walk amid the waves, not because we are without fear, but because we are anchored in something greater than ourselves.

Relationships are the vessels that carry us through life's most turbulent seas. They are not without their own storms, and at times they may feel as though they will capsize.

But it is in the giving and receiving of love, in the shared laughter and tears, that we find our truest course. Jesus taught me that to love is to be vulnerable, to be willing to step out onto the waters, not knowing if we will sink or swim.

It's a risk, yes, but it's one that makes the journey worth every step.

The Garden of the Soul

Sarayu led me to a garden, a wild and beautiful tangle of flora that seemed to pulse with life. It was an expression of my soul, she explained, a reflection of the chaos and the beauty within me.

As we tended to the garden together, pulling weeds and planting new seeds, I came to understand that my inner world was not something to be feared or to be ashamed of, but to be cultivated and cherished. In your own life, dear reader, there may be a garden waiting for your attention.

It may be overgrown with the weeds of worry, the thorns of past hurts, or it may be parched, longing for the waters of self-care and compassion. Tending to this inner landscape is not a task for the faint of heart, but it is a necessary labor, a sacred act of nurturing the ground from which our lives grow.

It's easy to look at the gardens of others and feel a sense of inadequacy, to compare and despair. But Sarayu showed me that each soul's garden is unique, that comparison is the thief of joy.

Instead, we must learn to appreciate the wildness, the unpredictability, and the potential that lies within our own hearts. As I dug my hands into the soil of my soul, I felt a connection to something eternal, a sense that I was part of a greater tapestry of life, woven with threads of love and light.

The Choice to Move Forward

As my time at the shack drew to a close, I was faced with a choice: to remain in the comfort of this newfound understanding or to step back into the world, bearing the scars and the lessons of my experience. It was a daunting prospect, to reconcile the Mack who entered the shack with the Mack who would leave it.

But I knew I couldn't stay, that the love I had encountered was not meant to be hoarded but shared, that the healing I had begun was a process, not a destination. You, too, face choices every day, my friend.

Choices that may seem inconsequential, but that weave the fabric of your life. To choose kindness over indifference, hope over cynicism, to choose to get up each morning and live - truly live - even when the weight of the world feels unbearable.

These choices define us, mold us into the people we are becoming. And I chose to move forward, not because I was no longer afraid, but because I was more afraid of stagnation than of change.

Life after the shack was not free of pain or struggle. But I moved through it with a sense of purpose, a knowledge that I was not alone, that the love I had felt in that place was as real as the ground beneath my feet.

I chose to see the beauty in the brokenness, the light in the cracks, and to offer the same to those I encountered along the way.

The Echoes of Transformation

Now, as I pen this letter to you, I am aware that my words are but shadows of the journey I've walked. Yet, I hope that in them you find echoes of your own path, resonances that stir something within you.

I am not so naive as to believe that my experience will transform your life as it did mine. But if my story has touched even the smallest part of your heart, if it has made you feel seen, understood, or a little less alone, then sharing it has been worth every word.

We are all travelers in this world, my friend, each with our own burdens and our own shacks to face. I invite you to look within, to find the courage to confront your own darkness, to seek the encounters that will challenge and change you.

There is beauty to be found in the struggle, growth in the pain, and love that transcends the deepest wounds. And so, I leave you with this thought: that life, with all its mystery and madness, is a canvas upon which we are invited to paint with the broad strokes of our experiences.

We are the artists of our own stories, and while the picture may not always be clear, it is ours to create, with every breath, every choice, every moment of grace. Before I bid you farewell, let me step out of my role as Mackenzie Allen Phillips and suggest something to you.

If my letter has sparked your curiosity, if you find yourself yearning to dive deeper into the story of The Shack, I encourage you to seek out the original book by William Paul Young. It is a masterpiece that weaves narrative and metaphor in a powerful exploration of faith, loss, and redemption.

In its pages, you may find further solace, guidance, and perhaps even a mirror reflecting your own journey. It is my sincere hope that, as it did for me, it offers you a beacon of light in whatever darkness you may be navigating.

With heartfelt warmth and the kindest of regards, Mackenzie Allen Phillips