I just went to my third memorial service this year. The oldest person was 50. It’s been kind a hard way to start a new year.
None of them were my close friend, but with each death it’s gotten closer to me until this last one was the beloved friend of a very dear friend of mine. It’s so hard to watch those you care about hurting so badly. Today he was only a few feet away from me, but I couldn’t get to him, to reach my hand out to him, to try in some way to let him know that I was there, that he wasn’t alone.
The last couple of years I have been feeling lonely. After years of always finding my place in a church, I discovered that it was the loneliest place that I could be and so I stopped being there. There didn’t seem to be any sense in taking part in a ritual that only made me feel worse.
But then Ben died in the earthquake at the beginning of January. He was a son of the church, coming into his own as a leader and a reawakener. He had dedicated his whole life to being a part of this thing that I had been rejecting.
And so I stopped rejecting. And I think in some way it’s because God knew that I would need a place to be. (Mind you, I found a new place to take part of the ritual–I’m not stupid!) I’ve never been comfortable talking about faith, about God and what God means to me, but listening to Ben’s family talk so openly about what their faith means to them has given me comfort and helped me to reimagine life and my place in it.
I hope that I can figure out how to use that newfound thought or inspiration to share with those around me who are hurting now. If I could put it in a bottle, I would do it–I’d put a nozzle on that bottle and I’d spray it all over those who are struggling and don’t understand what has happened.
But until then, I silently put out my hand and take yours in mine. I pull you into my embrace and I hold you as long as you’ll let me and I just pray that somehow it gives you peace.
