I’m not very good at grieving collectively.
There are people out there who want to embrace others when they’re hurting, but I prefer a dramatic retreat to a dark well, covered in the cozy blanket of music loud enough to close off the world. It’s here that I grieve through the clickity click of my keyboard, knitting the madness into something tangible.
And yet, there is a 9 year old tapping on my shoulder, wondering if she can have a blueberry bagel.
I want to snarl at this sweet thing, as I often do when she calls me out of my deep thought well. I want to be left alone to think, to mourn, to listen, to write, to hear the clickity click of my keyboard that brings so much comfort.
But to Love Extravagantly is to believe Love isn’t always “me first.”
Even in sadness.
Even in mourning.
Even in the deep well of my own comfort, when my 9 year old needs some affection.
So instead of snarling, this time I play Mancala.
And now that she’s in bed, this song comforts me in my dark well.
(Click here if you can’t see the embedded player).
And to the thirsty he will give water, from a river with no end
Wipe away every tear from our eyes
Death will be no more
All this mourning, all this crying
All this death we’ve seen, all these broken things…
…will end, all our pain
All this death we’ve seen, all the former things