How do we talk about Joy of Advent while this heaviness looms over our heads?
People are hurting.
People are talking.
People are rallying.
People are fighting.
People are trying to find someone or something to blame.
Whether we realise it or not, whenever tragedies strike, we try to find someone or something to blame.
If she hadn't gotten into the car that day, that wouldn't have happened.
If we had done more for his mental health, he wouldn't have gone and shot kids.
If people were in better agreement about the legal stand on violence, he would not have owned the gun in the first place.
She said...
He said...
Today I went over to meet with Nina about costumes for the kids for something we're doing on Sunday. We both knew we had most of the ideas sorted but we always need that one extra meeting just to talk it through again.
But today, we didn't really do much work. We sat outside and watched the dogs play. And we talked about the heaviness.
This is Nina's first Christmas without her dad who, for 51 years, had been the rock in her life. She said she kept putting off the Christmas cards because she didn't want to not be able to send one to her dad.
And then we talked some more about death and dying. And about how we always feel the need to find something or someone to blame--the forces of nature, God, legislature, sin... the list goes on.
"But that's not what really matters, is it? I mean, we think that finding someone or something to blame helps us bring closure when the reality is, with some things there will never be closure."
Every August, I watch the seasons change, remembering the autumn leaves that sat with me in a very dark place when first Keren in 2007, then my uncle and grandpa in 2008, died.
Every time a kindred from SOT days posts something on Facebook or Twitter that makes me jump up and down excitedly screaming inside, "YES! Someone gets it!", I weep a little that I never had time to grieve leaving one of many communities I hold dear to my heart because everyone was ushering me off into the excitement of New Zealand that I wasn't ready for.
Arthur says it's important to remember. "It is, I'm convinced, a spiritual practice that, like all practices, needs to be practiced!"
So we sit outside and sip wine when Erin arrived after picking the girls up from school. And we talked some more and remembered some more.
"So what do we do? We just love one another. People are not going to stop dying or leaving. But loving one another--that, we can do."
So we sit outside a little longer and watch the sun begin to finish its round for the day, and welcome the evening air. The sun lifts the spirits, but sometimes it's too much, too strong, and too soon. But a greater Light is coming that will defeat the darkness not in a piercing ray, but in tenderness that says,
"Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy ... So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you."
And until then, we keep on carrying each other's hearts.
O Come Emmanuel
