we interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post for a piece of broken news

no quotes of context today. the context of this week leaves no space for it.


today I organized a youth event.
whirley ball?
movie night?
the spring retreat?
no. a youth group trip to a memorial service.
this should not be. this must not be.
someone told me recently, "no one is equipped to handle death. we were not designed to handle death."
this is true - but fuck, there it is. so, what now?
i become angry at God.


why couldn't the police officer happen by fifteen minutes earlier and stopped him before rather than after?
why the face?
why did he go to that rave to give people his phone number...i have his phone number in my phone - i have a dead man's phone number in my phone.
no - i'm not designed to handle this. and here it is, for me to handle.
so, i need God. where is and who is God?

i see myself like a little girl in her father's arms. she is angry and pounding his large, sturdy chest with her small, weak fists.

"I hate you! Don't hug me. Leave me alone. You did this. You did this. Why didn't you stop him!?!"
My fists slow and the intense embrace of my father grows tighter. I continue as the intensity of my voice dies.

"Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you stop it in the fucking garden? Why didn't you protect him? Why didn't you protect me? You didn't protect me. I'm scared because you didn't protect me.

My fists come to a stop, nestled in his chest as his arms clamp even tighter around me. Yelling turns to sobbing as my tears pound him with the same smallness and weakness of my fists.

"I'm scared. I'm scared Daddy. It's so dark. It's so evil. They shot him in the face - the face Daddy. I'm scared. I'm alone and scared."

My fists release their grip and I gently push my father away enough to see his face. He is crying. His tears intertwine with the residue of mine. His large, powerful hands grip my small arms as he pulls me close again. My arms rap around him and his encircle me. Together we cry.

He says to me:
"It is dark out there. It is evil. They shot him in the face. They shot my baby in the face I made for him - the face I put myself in and my thumbprint on. You are scared. You are not alone. Hope is here. Redemption will come...but today, let's cry together.

He rests his weighty head gently on mine as his tears annoint my head like a calling, like a balm, like cleasinig water. I am baptized in his grief. He holds my hand - so small in his that I hold only his index finger, like a baby learning to walk. Together, we sob and walk into the lives of others, so desperate not to be alone in the darkness, the evil, the fear.

And so is my calling - to lead as a child - to grieve and wail and to invite all God's children to be bathed in God's tears and clothed in his embrace.

___________________________________________________________

This reminds me of a poem I wrote last August:
flying away
from the work you've given
into the rest you've invited
my eyes accidentally meet yours
majestically burning, washing, and watching above the world you redeem

my mind rushes to accusation and projection
my heart tosses in a sea of question and distrust
my soul is drawn in and repulsed in a nausiating instant
my strength is gone and so does nothing

our heads are hung and our eyes are weepy
as we stand in a moment of tense experience

you speak silently:
you stand in a shadow of disappointment
of things waited for
the dark, loveless, graceless shadow
in whose darkness you hide
it is not my shadow
it is not the shadow of who i wait for
it is the shadow of the you that you are tired of waiting for.

do not create me in your image

i look again,
you stand regally over the world
with open hands
your weepy eyes weep
not with exhaustion....as mine do
not with disappointment...as mine do
not with pity...as mine do

they weep with perfect and present love
i see you
i adress you
i am adressed by you

encounter

how long have you been there
waiting for me
to peer honestly into your fire and ocean eyes
to be in present love