I struggle with what I write about sometimes. I feel this unspoken pressure to be…different. To talk about academic things. To talk about spiritual things in a way that others find witty. And…as I reach for that unfamiliar pen and unfamiliar way of expressing myself, I always stop short. I don’t know life that way. I don’t know God that way. The things that others write about is so meaningful…to them. And even as I enjoy so many types of writers, I know that the work that I do revolves mainly around the place of rest. The place of breathing. While I am committed in part to the work of the mind (academic work, teaching, etc.), I know that my most meaningful work is with the heart and the steadying of breath. I may never be recognized as profound, but at least I am true to who I know myself to be. And who I know God to be in the midst of that. I hope that as I share my stories you feel comfortable to know and record your own.
“You wait and you wait.
Silently.
You cover your eyes.
Fight against the pressure
of the wind.
You know you can’t hide here forever.”
Morgan Harper Nichols
Do ya’ll cry a lot? I cry often. At least I am at my healthiest when I am crying. I have always been this way. I probably always will. If I’m happy, sad, mad, grateful…I will shed some tears unashamedly. Crying is not antithetical to my faith or who I am as a man. Recently, I found myself crying and at the end of my ropes in some major ways. Things that I was envisioning came crashing from the heights of dreaming to the crash-landing of the inevitable. Reality set in and it wasn’t what I had perceived. Here I was again in the familiar place of being victim to my own dreaming.
And I cried.
Have you ever cried until you get that ache in your head and your chest? Maybe that’s just me. When I cry in this way, the very disappointments of life come and nestle up to me and I feel the weight of a thousand different disappointments and rejections. My identity changes.
Will I always be this way?
“God, who dreamed up autumn:
grant us imagination
to trust our lives
can grow like trees
that never fear
losing their leaves.
Amen.”
KJ Ramsey
And so…I turned to my tissue box and leaned upon it’s never-ending stream of tissues for support. (I told ya’ll I cry a lot. I have tissue boxes everywhere.) And as I got to the very end of this box, pouring out all of my rejection and fears, I found God there. And what do I mean by “I found God?” Well. Maybe it’s a figment of my imagination. A delusion. A dream passing in the day. Or in the night. To be honest, I am not quite sure. As I looked at my mound of tissues and my empty box, somehow I had this inner knowing that I would be ok. Somehow I would get through even this. I have emptied many of these boxes in my life and lived to sing again. I’ve fallen asleep on top of tissues as I cried myself to sleep. I know I will empty many more.
God, if you’re there, I hope that all of this crying. All these tissues mean something.
“There is no pit so deep, that God’s love is not deeper still.” Corrie Ten Boom
*Please take times throughout your week to check in with your body. Where does it hurt? Where might pain be lying dormant physically or emotionally? As you check with yourself, I hope you have the resources to lean into those who love you and can support you.*
I want to point to a post by Morgan Harper Nichols that I found so moving this week.
Also here’s a playlist I created “Rest for the Weary” on Spotify. Please enjoy this list I have cultivated to nourish my soul and body.
**If this post has helped you, please share it. Bless ya’ll as we journey through tears.**
I think you are profound, Robert. And, you write what you feel - you write from your heart and soul. And that - is profound.
Thank you for sharing.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how the only time I pray to Jesus anymore is when I'm in deep pain, physical or emotional. Much of my theology and my connection to Christianity has fallen away, but I still need Jesus to talk to in those moments. This resonated with me a lot: "And what do I mean by “I found God?” Well. Maybe it’s a figment of my imagination. A delusion. A dream passing in the day. Or in the night. To be honest, I am not quite sure. As I looked at my mound of tissues and my empty box, somehow I had this inner knowing that I would be ok. Somehow I would get through even this. I have emptied many of these boxes in my life and lived to sing again. I’ve fallen asleep on top of tissues as I cried myself to sleep. I know I will empty many more."