Bitter Joy

Today started out great. I even made it to history class early--unheard of!--and had a lovely chat with Ingrid on the way there. Made it through the turmoil of insurance waivers, had lunch with friends and went to dinner to celebrate Kelly's birthday. Congrats girl!

When I arrived home I read about 2/3 of the chapter for history class tomorrow and during one of my breaks I read some blogs. Ben isn't doing well and has taken a turn for the worse. He's having seizures, inflammation from the chemo/radiation and now a cyst as a result of the tumor starting to die. Currently he's stabilized in a coma in ICU. What started out as a mostly joyfilled day has taken on a very bitter taste.

There are lots of theological things I could tell myself, but none of them really matter in a situation that seems so unfair. The future of their family is being ripped apart. I know that none of us are guaranteed life--it's all gift. Maybe that's just it. My soul aches that Ben's is potentially being cut so short. Raider might never know who his Dad is. Kirstin might become a single Mom to a 1 year old.

God.....do you have anything to say about all of this?

Anticipated Grief of a Real Imaginary Kind

I have been waiting for today to come and end. All week I've been working toward a bunch of deadlines which all ended today. This morning I had history class as usual, then came the funeral sermon, a quick lunch, then internship debriefing, work and at last...time for me. First a quick pause to talk about the sermon.

All week I have been pouring over this random situation I selected last Thursday and how to preach some kind of funeral sermon about it. I've never written one before, so a fresh challenge it was. The situation I had was a 40 year old woman named LaVonne who died from breast cancer leaving behind her husband and 3 kids aged 15, 12 and 9. I thought it woudl be challenging enough but not too far out of reach from all the tragic funerals we had at Trinity last year. Strangely the situation I selected randomly last week became reality this week. I discovered about a month ago that the husband of a friend of mine (Ben and Kirsten) has a brain tumor and surgery is not an option. They also have a 1 year old son Raider. Just this last week I found out that Ben's brain tumor is a stage 4 glioblastoma. The kind of cancer from which he is unlikely to recover. What was originally a removed funeral sermon suddenly became a very personal reality. It felt like I was trying to write Ben's funeral sermon instead of imaginary LaVonne's. I finally pulled something together that seemed decent--definitely not my best work--and gave it today in class, volunteering to go first to just get it over with. I was good until about 2/3 of the way through when I started thinking and only bad things happen when you start thinking during a sermon--I started crying. It was excruciating to get to the end. But I made it. My classmates were most generous in getting me a roll of toilet paper to blow my nose and our lab leader Pastor John Mann gave me a handkerchief which, while wrinkled and scraggly looking, he promised was clean. So it's been a long day.

Tonight I only did things that I wanted to do. As part of my celebration tonight I had my first chiropractic visit. Mostly because I was curious about what it would be like, but it released so much tension and stress. I felt like I was standing taller and straighter and much more at ease. More importantly...I did something for me. I invested in my well being and it felt really good.

Continuing the celebration, I watched the Grey's Anatomy premier. It was pretty good. I like the story line that the hospital is low on the list of top hospitals. It mirrors the slowness and awkwardness of the last season. I'm curious to see where it goes. I'm also hoping Christina's hot new military surgeon comes back. During the first half of the show I hemmed a pair of pants that I bought about 6 months ago. Somehow the motivation of wanting to wear them tomorrow spurred me to finish them.

What Does It Mean to Belong?

Two Sundays back I went to Redeemer for the first time since I left for internship. Somewhere in the middle of singing some praise songs I found myself in tears. I missed Trinity and Redeemer is very similar to Trinity in many ways. Later that night before I went to bed I sat and thought about what had happened that day. I'd been crying over leaving Trinity for at least a month and I began to wonder if I was missing some part of the healing process that should have been more obvious to me. It seemed so close and yet I couldn't quite name it. As I sat there thinking, it occurred to me what the issue might be.

My last sermon at Trinity was on the Canaanite woman who asks Jesus to heal her daughter but JC says "No, I came for the lost sheep of Israel." So the woman pleads, "Even the dogs eat the crumbs from the master's table." JC then responds that the woman's faith is so great and her daughter is healed. I saw so many similarities in her story and mine that I shared how lost I have been for most of my Christian travelings and how I have been searching for something missing which I knew had to do with God and me, but that was about it.

Afterwards, Paul came up to me and asked me "So how's the story end?" I never did get to answer him. Eventually I wrote back that "It ends with me finding what I was looking for--love, grace, acceptance, belonging." My story is the Canaanite woman's story. Most of my life in the church I've felt like an outsider. I grew up in the Lutheran church, but they never seemed to speak my language. There was no youth group and so I had to find my own connections through my friends' youth groups (which entailed a smattering of theologies and beliefs). When I had the most questions and confusion (basically 6th grade-college) it seemed that the church had abandoned me to my own devices.

What I realized from my Sunday episode after I'd written out some of what I was feeling was that I missed belonging like I did at Trinity--not just the people in particular, but the ways in which I was connected to them and how that made me feel. It occurred to me that all I had to do was start belonging somewhere else. It would be a waste in a sense and not using all that I've learned in this last year about how and what it means to belong to a people to just hole up in my apt. and feel sorry for myself, or to keep mourning and miss the morning (Psalm 30.4-5). Not that grief isn't real or will instantly disappear. I guess this is the piece I thought I was missing. My plan is to get more involved at Redeemer and start building some connections there. A year is loads of time to make a difference in peoples' lives even if you're leaving at the end of it. Such have I learned on internship.

So I carry with me this larger question: What does it mean to belong? The kind of belonging that cares for your social, emotional, physical, mental and spiritual well being. It doesn't just happen, but takes time and cultivation. It's something you grow into like a garden producing its fruits and yield.

The Good Hurt

Relationships are tricky things. What amazes me the most is how dependent human beings are on relationships with others and yet how temporal most relationships actually are. As kids we begin to learn how to relate to other people in good and bad ways through positive and negative experiences. These are the lessons we internalize deep within us whether we realize it or not. We are capable of inflicting great harm or creating immeasurable strength through the ways we relate to one another. Growing up, I had people who were very close to me abandon me and wound me. So losing people or saying goodbye or ending relationships has not been a positive experience for me. When the topic comes up and it personally relates to me, I cringe like an abused animal that hides in the corner for fear of the next blow. There are 2 responses:
1) Lash out in defensive anger
2) Say and do nothing

As I only have 2.5 months left in my internship at Trinity, it's time to be thinking about saying goodbye. I cringe as I read that sentence. I am also navigating the distance from my supervisor as he is on sabbatical for the last 3 months of my internship. It's bittersweet as I learn to fly on my own, but it's a form of goodbye and it's a precursor to the end of August. Apparently the way my brain is choosing to express all this emotional turmoil is by crying--a lot.

Psalm 30.5 reminds me that "weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Well there's been plenty of weeping for many nights, so my question is: When is the morning coming? The other thought floating in my head as I wait in this in-between time of almost done but not yet is that maybe the writer meant "mourning." I know, that's a cheap slip on the English translation and doesn't even begin to address the Hebrew in which the verse was written. But doesn't it make you wonder? Maybe the joy we experience through weeping actually does come in and through the mourning. Now that I've looked at the Hebrew, joy can also be translated "cry of lamentation, moaning."

Any respectable theologian (apparently) would not bother to read and especially not quote Matthew Henry because his interpretations are so archaic. Well count me in the non-respectable pile with the sinners as I give you some words to ponder from Matthew Henry.
"as sure as the light of the morning returns after the darkness of the night, so sure will joy and comfort return in a short time, in due time, to the people of God; for the covenant of grace is as firm as the covenant of the day."

The part that resonated with me was "in due time." The morning comes in God's time. We also know that God does not tarry, is right on time and is faithful to deliver on God's promises. That's why weeping, mourning, grieving becomes the good hurt. Before I wander into the corner of theodicy and whether God created suffering or not, let me just say that God experienced and knows the depths of what suffering is through the death of Christ on the cross. God understands the in-between time of weeping and morning. So I guess no matter how long the night endures, God is there in the dark with you--and me. That's some of the best good news and grace I've ever heard--even though my soul is still rent open and the tears keep flowing.