Last night’s small group was a lot more than I expected.
The heaviness in the room made me cry — sitting right there on the floor, with my legs crossed and my striped wool socks on — in front of dear friends and complete strangers.
Because what can you say when everything hangs in the unknown, just waiting to break?
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This is the product of last weekend’s work, the last of the swiss chard standing alone in the corner. It’s too warm for October, and the bees are eating up the sugar water we left out.
I wandered the yard, taking photos, thinking what a beautiful day, and mingled in with those words was a wordless thought.
Something about pain and joy and what it means that God allows such suffering.
How do I interact with the God of Job?
How do I worship when everything is out of order? When a moment of laughing and cookie-eating is shattered by the reality of a tumor?
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I am learning to encounter people in their pain, even though I sometimes feel like running away.
No. I cannot handle this. I’m sorry. Please take your pain somewhere else.
I am learning to face other people’s pain with courage.