pain

Stables

Sometimes, I reference the writing prompt that the hosting website suggests. They can be interesting and thought-provoking, they’ve even been so good that I abandon the initial reason I opened this computer to discuss the site’s question. Today, it’s “If you could bring back 1 dinosaur, which one would it be?” They are not all interesting.

In our service last Sunday, I brought up the many prayer requests in our circle. Our individual circles are huge, because we are all so cool. In a Venn diagram, the overlap is the Bridge, but the way I figure, that connects each of the circles to each of us. We are all ‘members’ of the Bridge family.

But some people drift closer to the shaded, shared section. Our close friends have close friends that become our friends, too. One of those friends, a super-sweet man we all knew from a yearly party, (it would have been impossible not to notice him, know him, remember him, and be affected by him, even seeing him on such an infrequent basis), passed away suddenly, at far too young an age, last week. It hurts and leaves a deep wound that will become an obvious scar that we carry forever.

There are many others, who sit near the overlap, who are in need of prayer, struggling through medical procedures, surgeries, distance, isolation, and on and on. For a small community, we have these beautifully massive pools in which we each, in which we all, swim. These pools carry great joy, fulfillment, celebration. But they also carry pain. We get to go to the best parties, and the most crushing funerals. We get the phone calls for very good – and very bad – news. The weight is heavy and seems overwhelming.

Proverbs 14:4 says, “An empty stable stays clean, but no income comes from an empty stable.”

In times like this, when our friend is gone, we might really like an empty stable. Or at least one that’s not quite so full. Right? A prayer list where I don’t have to turn the page to continue.

We’ve all thought it’s better to not have loved, than faced the devastation of love lost. In that moment, in this moment, we might make the trade.

There’s a BRILLIANT science-fiction movie where a man chooses to have his ex-girlfriend erased from his memory, the suffering is simply too painful for him to bear. Most of the film takes place in his mind, as she is being eliminated. It unfolds in reverse, the first memories to go were the ones from the end of the relationship, and they seem to be easy to bid farewell. But as we move backwards, the beauty, the intensity, the meaning, the love… they go, too, and he decides that the empty stable he thought he wanted has a cost that is way too high. He begins to fight to keep the memories, fights to keep her, in his mind and his life.

This makes me think about our friend, and the very good friend who brought him into our lives. She is awesome, and you can see his fingerprints all over her life. She is a better person in every way because he was there. The income that came from her dirty pen is impossible to calculate.

I was thinking of this friend this morning while I was thinking of my son. He goes back to college in about 3-ish weeks, and even now, I’m seeing my screen through watery eyes and a very real pain in my heart. He considered an internship which would have kept him away for the summer, but he was here, instead, and now I get to send him off to school again, for the 2nd time. Maybe it would have been easier if he had not come home for these 3 months. Maybe.

Maybe an empty stable is clean, with less texture, less laughter, less hugs and gallons less tears. But the income is what makes life so wonderful. An empty stable has infinitely less beauty, too. And less passion, less love, less of everything that matters. My summer has been really fantastic, I haven’t missed it, I am deeply deeply grateful we are here.

My friend’s tears – and mine and yours – from her circles are really offerings of gratitude. The income is a full, awesome life. As Vision says in the WandaVision series, “what is grief but love persevering.” The pain my friend feels is directly proportional to the love they grew and experienced. If we’re blessed, very very blessed, we can know this terrible, beautiful pain. This is the gift and the curse of the Church, of a present life. We will be connected and full. We will have purpose. We will have hearts that are so big and soft you can see them from 100 miles away. And yes, we will hurt, mourn, and suffer. There’s never a way around the pain, only “through.” The thing about that, though, is the promise that we’ll have hands to hold and arms to fall into, for the “through.” And that is more than enough.

Sirens

“Describe one simple thing you do that brings joy to your life.” That’s the site prompt today, and I sure like it. We should do this, and tell someone. And probably, if we don’t have simple things like this, then we should get one immediately. You know I do puzzles, listen to songs and sing along loudly, lift weights, watch documentaries, write these blogs, read books… I am a simple man, so it just stands to reason that I’d have a life full of simple things that bring joy. I bet there are so many who would call my life unbearably boring, and I am more grateful than I can tell you for my simple, boring, wonderful life.

This morning, I woke up to the sounds of sirens. There were many and they were so loud. As it turns out, a bar in our little town was burning. It’s the second time this business has been ravaged by a fire in 7 years. 2 adjacent apartments were affected, displacing residents. One of the families in one of those apartments has 5 elementary school-aged children (I knew this early because I happen to be married to a school employee, but I would know this now because it’s all over the news). They have lost most of everything they own.

The Angel and I cried together, separately, this morning. We also were victims of catastrophic disasters that stole everything we owned. And now I see this prompt about joy and gratitude, and it seems connected. (This isn’t surprising, because everything is connected, if we only have eyes to see. But the connections between some things are easier to notice, even without “eyes that see,” aren’t they?)

There was recently a pretty massive disruption that swept through our family, and required days and (probably) weeks of recovery. It was full of broken hearts and drama, tears, relief, uncertainty, hope, and pain. Today, when I hear these sirens and see this news, our terrible time feels smaller, in comparison.

But we don’t compare, do we? Our pain is our pain, and should never be minimized or de-valued. The people who remind us that our hurts are smaller than another’s are not our friends. Instead, they’re tone deaf and are woefully lacking in empathy. Rather than climbing into our pain with us, their uncomfortability forces them to act out of their own selfish interest to “cheer us up,” so that they don’t have to feel any darkness.

However. This morning’s tragedy does bring new perspective, like a sledgehammer. Our drama was awful, but doesn’t require us to rebuild our entire lives. We had to process human behavior, brokenness, and loss with our sons, 19 and 21 years old. But we didn’t have to hold small children, and each other, soothing them, assuring them that we were there, still together, badly emotionally and physically wounded but intact, we would mourn and we would rebuild, heal. (I remember those exact conversations like they happened yesterday, my heart still aches for my boys and my Angel.)

I guess the true thing is that we are all in this, all tethered by our spirits and The Spirit. Our pain sure isn’t magically smaller in another’s (often, people would say to us, “if it makes you feel any better…” then give a story of their loss – and it never made us feel better. Why would it??), but it does connect us in ways we could not artificially manufacture. Our eyes open (they take vital steps towards those “eyes that see”), we are jarred out of our own stories, and compelled to enter into new stories. We move to help, to carry, to pray, to hold. Our hearts grow through the pain, as we become more and more empathetic.

The site prompts like today’s are important, because we constantly return to our joy, our blessings, our gratitude. And so is our inevitable pain, our certain loss & tragedy. Sharing this human experience, all made in Our Creator’s image, invites us to acknowledge the truth that we are all His, so similar in so many ways. When we are grateful, and when we are broken, these are the times we stop looking through these lying, deceptive lenses that tell us otherwise. There aren’t divisions between neighbors and enemies in ruin, only brothers & sisters.

The End.

As I read through this, I realize that it might not be as coherent as usual, it might be messy, chaotic. That might be on purpose. I am not as coherent as usual, I am messy, chaotic. Life is complicated, with many conflicting forces all working concurrently inside of our heads and hearts. We’re just trying to make sense of all of it, but sometimes, there isn’t any “making sense of all of it.” Sometimes, it’s just trying to survive, in the midst of catastrophe. Other times, we’re so grateful we could explode. And then, there are times when both of them are absolutely real and noisily, confusingly coexist. And we (all of us, all of you, all of them) are always there, beautiful gifts from a Loving, Living God. And that’s enough.