Café — Stirring the Spirit Within
   

 

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The barrenness of the Burren reminded me of another large expanse of seemingly empty space, the desert through which the Israelites wandered after leaving Egypt. Both the Burren and the desert mirror the journey through difficult times everyone experiences at one point or another. The loss of a job, the death of a parent or loved one, the end of an important relationship, or other losses throw us into periods of confusion, sadness, or even desolation. The internal compass of life doesn’t seem to be working during these times, and like the Israelites’ desert journey, the walk through these times can seem directionless and without focus. “Why have you brought us out into the wilderness just to die?” the Israelites screamed at God, and anyone who has been through a significant loss can identify with those words. Explanations for these periods in the wilderness of mourning are hard to come by. All we can know is that our lives, like that of the Burren, will be forever changed.

 

 

That does not mean, however, that our lives are changed for the worse. Don’t misunderstand me: I don’t believe that God orchestrates loss to teach us a lesson or force us to change direction. God is not a puppeteer pulling strings and determining our every move. Bad things happen in this world, and God cries in pain along with us. Yet in the midst of the most barren spaces — just like the Burren or the desert — God can present us with something new and, often, something unexpected.

In the Burren the new and the unexpected come in the form of wildflowers. Rain brings out an astonishing profusion of them, blooming from cracks and crevices that appeared to be lifeless. The Burren is home to an unusual collection of flowers, some of which thrive in alpine and others in Mediterranean regions; nowhere else on earth are these flowers found together. Out of the catastrophic ice age and the changes that followed has come a unique environment. Out of our own losses will come the same one-of-a-kind life landscape.

That promise may seem absurd if you’re in the midst of a major loss in your life, and if that’s true for you, that’s okay. You don’t have to believe it right now. In the midst of loss there is a time for mourning, for not moving in any direction at all, but simply managing to get from hour to hour and day to day. When loss is new the “what-ifs” can seem more pressing than anything else. What if I don’t find another job and can’t pay the rent next month? What if I don’t find another important relationship? How will I live without my loved one? Imagining a future, much less a bright one, seems impossible.

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Faith Reflections by Sarah Stumme

It can be overwhelming simply to think about grief. Every page of the newspaper, every minute of the news, even the conversations I have are full of suffering and loss. Today, as I write, 16,000 children will die because of poverty and hunger, according to Bread for the World. The very earth is groaning in pain. As I try to understand, it becomes easy for me to dismiss my own pain, or worse, to evaluate yours.

I don’t want to compare my grief to yours or compare yours to anyone else’s. Then I would simply be judging and reducing the value of what is gone. There will always be someone in greater pain than I, and I will suffer more than some. I do not want to compartmentalize grief either, because when a child suffers from hunger across the globe, I understand that I share in that grief as well. Can I simply sit with my grief and with yours and honor it?

When my daughter was an infant, I would hold her on my shoulder and her breathing would soon match mine. I learned that I could calm her by holding her close and simply breathing with her. She is in elementary school now. When she gets distraught, I can still comfort her by sitting close and matching my breath with hers.

Perhaps instead of handling our own pain and grief, we can imagine God holding it and holding us — breathing with us. God is not watching us from a distance, but is so close that we share the same spirit, the same wind, the same healing breath.

Come to me, all who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Matthew 11:28-30

When I read Jesus’ words, I hear an invitation to be held and to be balanced not by my own management or strength, but rather by God’s love and grace.

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