I'm actually pretty good, though a little scattered lately, so don't get freaked out by what I am about to write, friends.
Today I pulled down my copy of Nouwen's The Inner Voice of Love from my shelf. It's made up of his journal entries written during one of the most challenging periods of his life. From the introduction:
This book is my secret journal. It was written during the most difficult period of my life, from December 1987 to June 1988. That was a time of extreme anguish, during which I wondered whether I would be able to hold on to my life. Everything came crashing down - my self-esteem, my energy to live and work, my sense of being loved, my hope for healing, my trust in God... everything. Here I was, a writer about the spiritual life, known as someone who loves God and gives hope to people, flat on the ground and in total darkness.I know people who can insert their own locations and events into this story and describe their own anguish. You do, too.
What had happened? I had come face to face with my own nothingness. It was as if all that had given my life meaning was pulled away and I could see nothing in front of me but a bottomless abyss.
The strange thing was that this happened shortly after I had found my true home. After many years of life in universities, where I never felt fully at home, I had become a member of L'Arche, a community of men and women with mental disabilities....
A friend emailed me about another book we had discussed, and this came to mind as something else that she might find useful, as she is wrestling with grief. Maybe I pulled it down because I'm reading about suffering and reconciliation from Thurman for one class. Maybe it's because I'm reading about L'Arche for another. Maybe it's because fall is a time where I'm a little ... upturned, perhaps in anticipation of the winter. Maybe it's because fall seems to be a time to remember.
I'm not in the same place I was the first time I read it. That's a gift. That's work and grace and aid from those who loved me. God, what would you have done if no one ever picked you up? (What if someone around you needs help getting back up?) What if you resisted being picked up for a long time? You there with stubborn pride and distrust.
I wonder what it would be like to read it again. When I read it for the first time I took the advice of the Suggestion to the Reader at the start of the book to read only one entry at a time. If you ever decide to read it, perhaps in a time of grief or because you want to learn about grief, I recommend reading one entry at time.
Meh. There's plenty of other things to read right now.
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In the past few days I've heard stories of friends here who have experienced tremendous pain, trauma, and betrayal.
On my run this morning, in the midst (really? midst?) of prayers and movement, I began to weep a little as I thought of how these people were hurt and abused. The women who were raped. (I get mad at the devastation that abuse causes and usually at the perpetrators, too.) The men betrayed by their partners' infidelity. (I get mad at the people who betray or cheat one those so wonderful who love them.) The lover neglecting the other's happiness - forgetting that in relationships you are supposed to care if the other person is hurt or suffering. (I get mad when we are so selfish and when we only look at ourselves. [Hey. Nice blog you got here.])
There are so many things to pray for. But, does God exist? Does she pay attention? We understand and make sense of Jesus more through the story of suffering, of humanity, than any atonement theology - some sickening mathematical formula that makes God kind of evil and makes God's love conditional on our actions. What? What?
Anyway, I don't have anything profound to say about suffering right now... Just know that what you gain by surviving whatever you survive is something big and important, though it huuuuuurts. It has opened you up to something bigger than what everyday life provides. Some day you might even save someone else's life. Or give them relief from the springs of their trauma or their long loneliness.
OK. It's time to listen to some loud metal and climb some rocks. Or sleep.
I have some more to say about grief, but I'm tired now. Good, though. Lucky, too.
Take care.


