Easily Excitable

There is a story about my older brother, Walker, that Momma tells, and it’s one of my favorites. He, Momma, and Daddy were headed to church in Thomson (I think), and Momma and Daddy were dropping him off at the nursery. 

This was also during the time period when Walker had a speech impediment. He would try to say the F sound, but would instead sound out an S. 

For example, feet became ‘seet.’

I also love this because I can say lovingly that he is a diagnosed Type A personality who loves attention to details. 

As a Type A personality who pays shoddy attention to details (at best), I appreciate that about young Walker Meadows. 

As the trio rounded the corner and opened the door to the Methodist nursery, 

There was a child in the room losing his mind. 

My brother read the room, turned back at Momma and Daddy and said, “Who will keep me sase?”

Safe was obviously the desired word here, but you get the drift. 

I love that story- I think it’s hilarious. But I also love it because I think young Walker Meadows was on to something. 

I think that question is in all of our internal dialogues. It might be fashioned or worded a little differently, but the point remains. 

Who will keep me safe? 

This question, both for ourselves and for those we love most, is particularly invasive for me when there is tragedy or sorrow. 

And haven’t these past couple of weeks been just that? 

Both in my small community and beyond, specifically in Texas, there’s been less than ideal news, sickness, outright loss, and rampant heartache.  

I don’t know about you, but for me personally, it starts to weigh down my soul after a while. 

My heart hurts for people I know and those I don’t. 

I think my natural inclination is, at times, to look away from the pain of others. I don’t like to admit that. 

I don’t know if that’s a universal response or not. 

Watching the waters of those floods invade Keir County, reading about what it looked like in Camp Mystic, and thinking about those little kids and their families- I just can’t imagine it. 

I do believe that it is the thumbprint of God to have empathy, but that empathy is heavy too.

Along with tragedy , Anxiety can enter in, too. 

We walk around in fragile bodies. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, we get exhausted, tossed about, and torn up.

Just seeing how fragile that existence is creates that anxiety- that feeling of being untethered, of feeling like we’re just floating about in a sea of unpredictability. 

Emotions are hard. 

Grief is hard. 

Pain, heartbreak, sorrow: they are hard. 

I am guilty of just wanting to shut those emotions off- to move on to happier thoughts and lighter topics. But I don’t think this is always a healthy thing to do. 

I think feeling that hurt and sitting in it for a bit is helpful. 

Not fun, but helpful. Rushing out of the pit of grief might bypass the healing that’s in store, even when it’s a long road to get there. 

Because no matter how deep and dark the depths may be, there is a solid ground Rock who can always be found, but sometimes proves sturdiest when it seems like we’re slipping and sliding. 

The sad thing about grief is that we can’t fix it. 

We can quote Bible verses all day long, but sometimes, I think we need to sit sad and heavy, too. There is a felt sorrow that is inexplicable and unupliftable, at least for a little while. 

Don’t bypass your grief. I think that, if God wanted us to do that, He probably wouldn’t have included the depths of anguish in His book. 

There’s an entire book called Lamentations, for crying out loud. 

I think that we are quick to explain God. 

However well-intentioned it may be, and however it may make us, as onlookers, feel better, I don’t think it’s helpful. 

I want to stay away from trying to explain God. I think we can only fling ourselves into His arms. 

I am guaranteed to find strength in His arms and His providence: I am not guaranteed to find every answer. 

When I think about offerings to God, I’m prone to think about the tangibles: 

Our offerings at His altar can be money. 

They can be our time. 

They can be using our God-given gifts wisely.

But how precious to Him must our shattered hearts be, also? 

Can not our offerings also be, “God, this hurts so badly.”?

Doesn’t God hold our broken pieces fiercely, as well? 

Our hurts aren’t lost on our Comforter: David tells us as much in Psalm 56:8:

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” 

To be human is a heavy thing. 

I have nothing to fix that. But I do understand if you’re feeling heavy and anxious, wanting to cling to those you love most. 

The yoke of humanity is heavy, but from our High Priest, Jesus Himself, who knows firsthand of the struggles of being human, we are called to take on His yoke. 

It is the yoke of submitting all cares to careful, scarred hands. And to know that we aren’t called to the burden of figuring out the whys, to know that we aren’t pulling by ourselves, makes the work less lonely and a little lighter. 

I’ve told this story before, but it’s worth remembering because it shows how we all handle moments of grief differently. 

It’s slightly inappropriate, but it’s real.

It’s also funny and shows that humor and tragedy can exist in the same moment. 

On the day Caroline, my sister, passed away, I sat in the office as we tried to figure out what in the world to do next. 

My principal sat beside me, and then he prayed for me. 

He is a good man and good leader who covered me in that moment. I’m grateful for that. 

Then, a woman I work with walked into the room, stood beside me, placed her hand on my shoulder and proceeded to drop a loud expletive. 

She’s a good woman who I love just as much. 

I was grateful for her, too, because, then and in the days following, I felt some of that in my heart, too. 

I feel that in me now, too. 

I’m praying and hurting for others while also having those, “This is messed up” reactions, too. 

So, I guess with all this I’m saying that it’s okay to be sad. 

Job sat down in ashes for a while in his grief.

My prayer has been that God meets each hurting heart in an undeniably personal way that is undeniably Him. 

I pray He binds up hearts and gives hope to each. 

I pray He shines light, whether it’s a penlight or a spotlight, in these dark moments. 

I pray for healing and for strength. 

And I praise Him that we don’t have to go through this messy, beautiful, tragic, joyful, difficult human experience alone.