I know we're busy. I know we forget sometimes. More than anything, I think, we so desperately don't want to say the wrong thing. It's impolite, we've been told, to bring up nasty topics like loss and sadness. But if we don't bring it up, what are we left with? We talk about the easy things, the happy things, the weather, and then we leave one another totally alone with the diagnosis or the divorce papers.

...When you're in that place, it's a gift to be asked how you're doing, and most of the time the answer comes tumbling out, like water over a broken dam, because someone finally asked, finally offered to carry what feels like an unbearable load with you.

--bittersweet, Shauna Niequist

I have been having a hard time putting words to my thoughts and feelings lately. But that's not just it... I haven't been able to express myself with art or music either. But I have been doing a lot of reading and a lot of listening to music. Although this just adds to the number of thoughts racing around my mind, some things just resonate with me.

acedia & me.

"At its Greek root, the word acedia means the absence of care. The person afflicted by acedia refuses to care or is incapable of doing so. When life becomes too challenging and engagement with others too demanding, acedia offers a kind of spiritual morphine: you know the pain is there, yet can't rouse yourself to give a damn. That it hurts to care is borne out in etymology, for care derives from an Indo-European word meaning "to cry out," as in a lament. Caring is not passive, but an assertion that no matter how strained and messy our relationships can be, it is worth something to be present, with others, doing our small part. Care is also required for the daily routines that acedia would have us suppress or deny as meaningless repetition or too much bother.....

...I encountered another passage from Evagrius, recognizing myself in the description of a listless monk who 'when he reads... yawns plenty and easily falls into sleep. He rubs his eyes and stretches his arms. His eyes wander from the book. He stares at the wall and then goes back to his reading for a little. He then wastes his time hanging on to the end of words, counts the pages, ascertains how the book is made, finds fault with the writing and the design. Finally he just shuts it and uses it as a pillow. Then he falls into a sleep not too deep, because hunger wakes his soul up and he begins to concern himself with that.'" --Acedia & Me, Kathleen Norris

This is me. Well, kind of. There are some people and some things that are very important to me. But, then there's the majority of relationships and tasks.... I just don't care. Sometimes I want to care. Sometimes I don't even care that I don't care.

sadness.

I don't like to think about hard things. I would rather ignore big questions and hurts and sadness. I would rather keep it all hidden and pretend like everything is fine. And then it will be, right? Fake it 'til you make it, right? Maybe that's good sometimes, but it's not always the best choice. And it is a choice.

And the thing is, I am genuinely happy. I have so much joy and hope and peace. I am not living in fear. I am free to be my crazy self. And I have so much fun. But there is a sadness, a brokenness.

I have been coming to realize that our society does not approve of or encourage sadness. It's not okay to not be okay. That's why, when we ask "How are you?" we know the answer will be in the affirmative. But it is okay to not be okay. We're emotional beings, and that includes negative emotions (for lack of a better term... they may not actually be negative. Our culture just dictates that they are.)

When I came back from Honduras, I did not miss it. I was not sad (or, I didn't think I was). I was hurt and angry and hardened and bitter. I had built up a lot of walls to survive Honduras, and those walls didn't just disappear when I went through customs.

When I was in Honduras, my Grandma Lamer died. That was hard. She was old, but I loved her. And I had no closure. I was blessed to have one of my pastor-friends walk with me as best as she could from thousands of miles away. I was blessed by so many people. But it still hurt. But I didn't let myself grieve. I had a hard enough time just living in Honduras without that.

On February 27, my Grandma King died. This was also hard. She, too, was old, but I loved her. However, I had been able to visit her before she died. And for that, I am thankful. And I was able to go to the funeral. I had closure. And once again, I am blessed by the community around me.

Grandma King's death has brought up a lot of sadness, though. Sadness over her death, but also Grandma Lamer's, my Grandma and Grandpa T., and also for Honduras. I don't miss a lot about Honduras, but I do miss some things and some people, and I miss them dearly. Many times, without even trying, I close my eyes and think that I'm in Honduras. But I'm not. And I probably won't ever be again. And if I was, it wouldn't be the same. (and maybe that's a good thing.)

So, I have been grieving. Weeping. Finally.