Backlash

Oddly enough, the book for this past week in Pastor as Person was about death. There's no better way to get yourself out of a rut of grief than to read about death. Actually, I'm serious about that one this time around. I actually had a bit of a backlash against all the grief of the past week and I'm going to credit Lynch for it after reading The Undertaking. In order to apprecaite death, one must appreciate life.

Life, despite being surrounded by death, is everywhere and is waiting for full appreciation. On top of this, I think the recognition that Thanksgiving is around the corner. I, like many people, have grown up with a skewed vision of what Thanksgiving is. I tend to associate it with mounds of food, sleep, vacation (from school of work), and even football. There is tragedy in those associations...or rather, there is tragedy in what is not typically on that list. Thanksgiving should be what it says: giving thanks. More often than not I forget what those things are, or limit myself to the usual (and shallow) gifts that I am thankful for. Most children are thankful for their friends, or family, or for fun times. This year I want to challenge myself to look a little deeper. If I want to really go crazy I will thank God for those things I am deprived of. I may be thankful for the challenges in my life that, despite struggle, define life in so many ways. Perhaps I will even give thanks for grief.

Sorrow in the Present

My thoughts continue to drift back to a boy in a river.

Emailing back and forth, discussing the events in the internado, and talking about Erica's general state of mind brings the word sorrow to my mind constantly. I keep wanting to point to the future, when things will be brighter...when there will be perspective on this event. But, to suggest such a thing to anyone in the grieving process is not helpful, compassionate, or fruitful.

Sorrow is very much a state of the present. It is hard to look forward to sunny days when sorrow is clouding the the sun. And in many ways, this is OK. Sorrow is necessary, and it is healthy. It is not easy to lose something as important as a unique human being. It is loss of the worst kind.

My thoughts drift again, this time to the seminol sorrowful experience in my own life...one with a significant date around the corner. Wednesday, November 10, my older brother would be 27. A few weeks after that I will have outlived him. Yes, sorrow is very much a word of the present. Not to take a cheap shot at those who were there for me and my family when Lee died, but to say something to the tune of, "Buck up, things will get better," is a horrible slap in the face.

Of course, they were right, things did get better. But to someone in the midst of the present, the future is not what you want to hear about.

Nevertheless, the future does come, and with it comes perspective, lessons and values learned, and sobering thoughts about both life and death. Hindsight is a funny thing. I turn to the Old Testament texts that I am studying for (or not studying for) in preparation for an exam tomorrow. All of these stories...this history. Did they know the significance of what they were doing? There is much sorrow in these stories. Were they able to see the significance as it was happening? Or did they find the meaning only much later? Or are we still seeking the meanings, even now?

I hope a community in Honduras can find meaning in the loss of a little boy. I hope they can find God working through tragedy, even now when it is hard to see. But for the present, I know they are working through sorrow. May God keep them. May God heal them. But for now, sorrow is enough.

Caught

I got an email this week from Erica with the kind of news that shocks a person out of his or her own reality. Several days ago a boy was playing with friends in a river. Dipping below the surface, he did not come back up. His friends continued diving in after him for two hours, only to finally discover his body wedged between rocks.

To continue the heartbreak, the kids took their friend from the river and brought him back to the internado where they stood vigil the entire night. The next day, without any sleep, most of the kids had to return to the fields to work. Erica said that she has yet to see any of the kids cry and that something like this is so common in their lives that it is "just" an event rather than something to call special attention to.

She is unable to cry in front of the kids because of their attitude toward the whole event and because she doesn't want to freak them out.

What is this? What am I doing here in this life while children are dragging their friends out of rivers and bringing their lifeless bodies back to their homes? And yet, I am ashamed at the realization that such a story merely provides a reality check for me. I question the world surrounding me and the things I take for granted. I question the people around me and the comforts I have.

My focus should not be here; it should instead be there. My focus should be on the lives of those people and to pray for God's love. To pray for God to keep those children in his care. To be humbled by the tragedy that is life without forgetting the joy. To ask why rocks can capture and crush the life of a boy playing. To marvel at the bravery and courage of his friends.

To live with the knowledge that I don't deserve to be where I am. I am at once free of rocks but just as deserving to be caught between them.