Sometimes, some things require outside help. You get to a point, a place, where you realize that you are up against something that you cannot, no matter how much you try, resolve. Re solve, odd, the re part I mean, because that would imply you've been to this place before. And maybe you have. Most unsolvable things are not new, are they? They're remnants, reminders, remainders of other unsolvables. Things you worked with and around, but never through.
That place is nowhere you want to stay, despite its familiarity, despite how long you've been there and how many times you've been foolish enough to come back - you do realize places like these are of your own making. And even despite the inevitable discomfort associated with leaving it, with leaving anything familiar.
And so you call for outside help. You gather your courage and say the words, out loud, that make going back impossible.
It is a gracious hour, one you have longed for just as naturally as you have feared it.
And in that gracious hour - the darkest hour of the darkest day - you feel yourself, usually so lion-like, led, lamb-like, into the innocence of surrender. You cannot know yet what will remain. But you feel the quiet sense of truth brush past.