On the Heavy Side
Saturday, January 5, 2013 at 11:22PM I was thinking a little today about something that has on-and-off haunted me for several weeks now.
I saw my mom and dad on Skype this afternoon (Michaela opened her birthday present from them...Skype is such a great thing!), and my parents and I were talking after Michaela was finished unwrapping. Mom laughingly (and lovingly) mentioned how I had written about (oh my goodness...I am having a hard time even typing about it at all) the CT shooting, and how, in that post, I had said so many things don't matter, including the fact that we were getting new phones. But last night I had written about how I was excited about the new phone that I finally got. I agreed with her...one day I write something that is so weighty (or rather, about something that is so weighty), and the next (or a little later at any rate) I'm writing about new cell phones, yippee!
(By the way, my mom wasn't laughing at the post I had written, nor about the shooting, so I hope it didn't come across like that at all...it was the disconnect, the radically different nature of my posts that was the issue. Just to clarify.)
That disconnect? It doesn't sit well. And yet, what is a person to do? For days after the tragedy in Newtown, I struggled with what to write. Should I write anything? Should it be about what happened there? Should I write about what is going on here? Does that matter? What's it all for anyway? Who cares?
I did keep writing. I wrote some about what happened, because I couldn't not. It was on my mind, in my heart; as a person, as a parent, I felt the horror in every fiber of my being. Thoughts of the parents, those who had been at the school, those first-responders, pressed out almost everything else. However, as the days have passed, the awful events have become less in the very forefront of my mind. They are still there, shadows and remembrances that suddenly break my heart all over again at the lines from a song, or the laughter of my own kids, or the messes that were all over the house after Christmas.
What I have been surprised about is what else is there. There are other images, there are other heartbreaking stories, and there are other terrors that are keeping company with those Newtown shadows. In every part of the world, we can find injustice, oppression, degradations, indignities...the things that make your stomach turn and heave and sink, the things that make your heart literally feel like it's cracking in two. What I keep thinking is this: Why were these other things not already in the forefront of my mind? Why am I so upset by what happened in a quiet, sleepy little town a couple thousand miles away from where I live?
Maybe it's because the news was so available, so instantly, from Facebook to the online news sites (and on TV as well, but I didn't turn the TV on). It was in my face no matter where I turned, digitally speaking. And then, when I did turn away from the screen of my computer, I saw Eliana. Eliana, who might have been in a classroom like that and been taken away in an instant. I saw Michaela, and thought of all the other kids in the school, and the sounds that they heard, and even what they may have seen. It's too much. It's too much for anyone to have experienced.
And this is true in all of those circumstances. It's true for all of those in this world who are hungry, so hungry that they are dying and the gnawing never stops, until their bodies simply can't take it anymore. It's true for those in this world who are in bondage, slaves in ways that we cannot even fathom for the horror of it. It's true for those who see brutality while on front lines, fighting for freedom and yet living out nightmares.
And here I sit, in a cozy house, with healthy kids and a full tummy and more clothes than I have room for.
And what do I write?
The conclusion that I have come to, at least in part, as I'm sure it's a work in progress, is that I must write what I know, and what I love, and what I think, and what I feel, and how we live, and my hope is that in my writing about our life, I am honoring those whose lives have been cut short, as well as those who are heartbroken and missing those who are gone. I hope that in our living, we are remembering. If I were to write about how awful the world is, or about how sad I am about what happened, every day, what purpose would that serve? Or if I were to quit writing about the mundane and sometimes meaningless stuff in our lives, because what good does that do, then what would that accomplish?
The main things that would happen if I stopped writing or only wrote about sadness are that Satan would feel victorious, and I would be unfaithful. Satan isn't victorious. But after something like the Newtown tragedy, it's easy to think he's gaining ground. The truth is that he's a busy devil, and he's always up to no good. But God is busier, almighty even, and in fact he is all and only good. I return to what my pastor said Sunday after that terrible Friday; when we are in God's hands, we are never not safe, no matter what it looks like from the world's perspective. And this makes no sense unless we truly believe that this is not our only and final destination. I don't have an answer for the question why do such awful things happen in the world if God is all powerful and all good? I don't have one that will satisfy a lot of people anyway. This world is broken, and crying out for redemption...every single part of it. And God has promised that one day he will redeem in full what he has partly redeemed, even since the beginning of time. And on a Sunday after another, and ultimately most terrible, Friday, God's definitive victorious shout was heard loud and clear at an empty tomb when the angels cried out,"He is not here. He is risen!"
If I stopped writing about our lives and about our mundanity, or about the silly things that make me happy and the funny things that the kids say, then I would be giving up. I would not be being faithful. God made me like to write. Writing brings me joy a lot of the time, and peace sometimes too. God made me like words. I can order words like a boss. (Toot toot!) (That's me tooting my own horn.) (If only laundry were so manageable with words!) (Or my children!) (Children manageable with words...not laundry manageable with children...although...) In the face of trials, mine or someone else's, I don't want to give up! In fact, I want to figure out how I can do what I love to do in a way that honors and glorifies God, as well as honors those who are truly disenfranchised, those who are oppressed, those who are left behind, those who are suffering, those who are hungry, and thirsty, and waiting for help!
Right now, at this very moment, I don't know where I'll go with that (or where he'll go with that). But, I do want to head somewhere (literally, figuratively, I don't know). For now, I'm going to keep writing. It helps me pay attention better each day. It helps me sort things out sometimes. Hopefully it makes someone else laugh every now and then. It will likely be random. I can't promise coherence all the time. But I will write and write and write! Maybe one day I'll figure out how to write and make a difference too...
Reader Comments (2)
I love this post and even though I have nothing funny or awkward or wise to add, I just wanted you to know.
This is such an insightful and thoughtful post, Christina. It's something I've struggled with for years as well: how to reconcile the details of the life we live in our comfort and ease (but also struggles, of course) with the horror and suffering around the world. Especially as a history major who constantly looks at the scope of suffering through all the ages together.
I agree with all of what you wrote here and many of your words reflect my same thoughts and struggles. I thought I'd tell you a couple of other things that have helped me at various times, but I will do it by email...