Monday, February 22, 2010

Speaking Into The Void

A couple of the posters on the FB site Oh No, You Didn't -- Things Said to a Grieving Parent Better Left Unsaid have mentioned conversations with people whose children have died subsequent to the deaths of their own children and who have said, " I realize now that I had absolutely no idea what you were talking about."

In an odd way, that's a bit comforting. Or at least reassuring.

It's not particularly comforting to know that our words are incomprehensible.

But I have read a lot of words in the past week about Lent, about the need to enter deeply into our places of loss and grief, about our need to wander the desert.

Why would anyone want to do that, I wonder?

It's such a relief to realize that my own reaction of bewilderment comes from the parched and barren land to which I have unwillingly relocated, and that I do not need to go further, because I am already here.

Believe me. You do not actually want to come to this place.

4 comments:

Karen said...

so true. a place of exile, not choice.

Beach Walkin said...

i made a choice this lent. i choose not to go the the place that we have called lent for years and years and years.

i am baptized. i choose to live lent with a life of creativity and newness and resurrection and walking wet.

i'm pretty sure God's ok with my choice.

karen gerstenberger said...

Amen.

People who still have a choice about whether or not to come here, talking about it, is kind of irritating to me. That's one reason I don't go to church.
It's a mental exercise for them, while for us, we were deported, and WE ARE HERE. No thinking about whether I'm willing, no questions as to "what would I give up for Lent this year?" In that realm, I can always take it up again; what I gave up for Lent, I can have back, after Lent. But it's not that way for us: Lent was done for us, to us, in us. It's our choice now HOW to live in it.

As always, I love your honesty.

Daisy said...

((((GG, Karen and Karen ))))

I hug you all as I have no words.

Mich