Disappointment

 

Last Monday wasn’t my best day.

It started out fine.

I enjoyed sleeping in and then

Eating a nice leisurely breakfast.

But then I checked my e-mail:

 

Dear Ms. Deaton,

Thank you for your interest in volunteering for Antiques Roadshow.

We currently have all the volunteers we need,

So we will not need your assistance in Baltimore.

 

And that was it.

 

I had planned an entire Baltimore vacation under the assumption that I had been accepted as a volunteer for Antiques Roadshow.

 

I filled out the volunteer form.

I received a confirmation e-mail.

The e-mail listed what volunteers would need to do and the things with which they’d be provided, and

It said at the bottom that more information would come.

 

But here’s the thing:

Evidently, the e-mail confirmation wasn’t a confirmation of acceptance.

It was a confirmation of INTEREST.

They accepted applications on a first come, first serve basis.

And my application was apparently received after the 140-person cut off but before they closed the form.

 

I had planned to go to Fort McHenry—which is a bucket list teaching item—

To go to a fancy restaurant—

To go on a sunset sailboat ride—

To go to the zoo and aquarium—

And to stay in the safe part of downtown Baltimore.

 

When my Roadshow hopes were dashed, though,

So were my plans for the rest of the trip.

The friend going with me was only going because she knew how excited I was.

Without that excitement, she was worried about money…

I didn’t want to make the trip alone.

And so…one by one…I cancelled all my reservations.

 

And I was very sad.

 

I moped around the house all day.

I took a nap.

I mourned the dashed excitement and loss of plans.

I felt my feelings.

And then later in the week,

I planned a different trip with a different friend to a different location.

I will spend less time in the car

And more time with someone I don’t get to see often enough.

 

Oh God: When things don’t work out as planned—when we are left feeling disappointed and sad—help us to feel our feelings for a healthy time and then to work with you to create something good from the broken pieces. A failed vacation is a first world problem. I know that. I know that I am fortunate to have experienced the disappointment at all. Help me never to take that for granted. And God? Be with those who cannot travel away from home for whatever reason. Grant them joy and light and happiness in the everyday moments of life and bring to them the good news from a big, beautiful world. Amen.

A Lesson In Loneliness

I read a newspaper article a few weeks ago that really made an impression on me. The headline reads, “Man found three years after his death; a lesson in loneliness,” and the article shares the story of Ronald Wayne White, a diabetic Navy vet who died “unnoticed and all but forgotten.” His rent was automatically deducted from his bank account once a month. His car was parked, untouched, in the garage.

The article reads:

“It’s disheartening that society has reached such a threshold of disconnection that (Ronald) could have no friend, no coworker, no acquaintance to even check to see if he was alive or dead…

This case reminds us that there are thousands of people among us who are in severe states of loneliness and isolation…The reality is that loneliness profoundly grips many of us…

White’s case drives home the importance of making real life connections. There should be people in our lives who can and will reach out to at least check on our well-being or at least notice when something might seem odd.

We’re more connected through social media than ever before. Experts point out that we’re processing so much information…that we’re losing our ability to think and feel. It’s hurting our personal connections and making us more distant and lonely. And the loneliness can negatively affect our health…

Let’s vow to actually pick up the phone to talk to or actually go visit someone we know instead of spending so much time on social media. Let’s make eye contact and be mindful of other people. Let’s do things with other people, be it attending religious services or going to a ball game. We need to take better care of ourselves and our neighbors.”

Friends: Let’s be loneliness fighters. No one deserves to live, or die, or feel alone.

Haiku-ing Through Sadness

I had the privilege of kid-sitting Griffin the Nephew and Amelia the Niece on Thursday night. As part of our time together, we watched a couple of episodes of America’s Funniest Videos. We laughed super hard at the ones involving animals and babies, but we didn’t laugh so hard at the ones where people got hurt or where the camera person staged the whole scene. What we figured out was that the funniest moments tend to happen unplanned—like when Amelia told me that she would sleep in her parents’ king-size bed with me if I just had an off volume switch—or when she looked at a small group of fish and announced that they must be a home-school of fish—or like Sunday night when I was literally so sad that I could do nothing but lay in my bed, wrapped in my blanket, and…write…haiku. Yes. Haiku.

I struggle with goodbyes. Anyone who knows me knows this much. I’ve gotten better with goodbyes over the past few years. I’ve come to accept—more fully—that people come and go and that that is okay—even needed. Yet goodbyes are still hard—especially when they are said to a lot of people at once and/or to people I call friend and respect—and that has happened three times over the past three weeks.

On Sunday night, I told Mister Pastor Patrick and his beautiful wife Courtney goodbye. As part of their sending off, I worked with Rebecca the Great Children’s Minister to create a painting for them. On the back of the painting, as I was trying to write a nice little note to accompany Rebecca’s declaration that “Beca and Dee hate Texas” (which is where they are going), I found myself writing a haiku that went along with the day’s worship service, the last line of which expresses what Patrick wanted to say to the congregation and what I wanted to say to him and Courtney:

Faith. Hope. Love. Believe.
Simple words. Never more true.
I believe in you.

I suppose that a haiku tree sprouted in me with those words and kept growing last night when nothing else in me could move:

1.
Willow tree weeping
Rain falling softly off leaves
Body slumped to ground

2.
Faith hope love remain
The greatest of these is love
Love one another

3.
Paralyzed nothing
Lying prostrate on the ground
I am very sad

4. (modified form)
“Don’t be sad that it’s over—
Be glad it happened”
I think I’ll be both.

5.
So much to be done.
Work stares at me, calls my name.
Not now. Tomorrow.

6.
Ignore everything.
Lay in bed and write haiku.
Wish for a Genie.

7. (modified form)
People are leaving.
I feel real sadness.
Please don’t tell me I shouldn’t.

8.
My partner is gone.
I don’t know where to begin.
Without you? Blank space.

9.
My mom does not cry.
Except when profoundly moved.
You are quite special.

And then today:

10.
The morning after
A night of sleep didn’t bring you back
Equally as hard

11.
Hey Mister Pastor
You challenged me to be a
Better me. Thank you.

12. (Title: Mountain Lake)
Breathe in cool, crisp air
Lay back in peaceful waters
Tension fades away

Funny, huh? That rhythmic words are all I can find right now. I guess maybe it’s a way to find structure and order when so much feels like it’s falling apart?

This is a strange gift
Writing haiku through sadness
But I guess it works

A Bad Feeling

Going back to work today wasn’t too bad. Tomorrow will likely be more difficult because I’ll have less adrenaline. But today was okay…except that I carried an underlying sense of anxiety all day—because of the book that I’m reading.

I’ve read the book before—a clearance book from the Books-A-Million in Columbia—but I don’t remember anything about it. The basic plot is of a twenty-something going home for her brother’s wedding, only her brother is uncertain as to whether or not he should go through with the wedding because he has fallen in love with another woman. He must figure out what to do and she must face her past.

The book is fine. Decently written. Decently read. But I’ve been so worried about the fiancé that I’ve been anxious for the entire four hours that I’ve been reading (with my ears)—and evidently in the hours when I’ve not been listening in my car—that I haven’t really been able to enjoy it.

The writer doesn’t share the fiancé’s point of view. The only things we know about her come from the narrator’s perspective. So we don’t know what she’s thinking—how she’s feeling—if she has any clue that her wedding is likely going to be cancelled and that a ten year relationship is likely going to end—or if she’s going to have a huge bomb dropped on her. Regardless, she’s in a really bad situation…and no matter what happens, she’s going to be really hurt. She’s either going to be marrying a man who loves another woman or she’s going to be forced to walk away from the man she thought she’d be with forever—and neither are really fair to her—nor are the lies she’s been told—or the information that’s been kept secret—or the choices that have not been given to her to make.

I know. You may be thinking. This is a fictional character, Rev. Dee. But is it really? Isn’t this the story of so many people? Maybe not the possibility of a cancelled wedding on the wedding weekend—although I know that that happens more often than any of us want to admit—but the unfairness, the lies and half-truths, the secret information, the choices not offered, the imbalance of power, the not-knowing how to have a really difficult conversation. Might this be your story, too?

I remember struggling with similar thoughts as I walked up and down the halls of the hospital where I served as chaplain. On so many occasions, I felt horrible knowing that I knew difficult information that families did not know—yet I couldn’t say a word. I held an unfair power advantage in the situation—and sometimes I had to have conversations with people, trying to remain present and non-anxious, knowing that their loved-one was dying—knowing that their hearts were going to break momentarily—when all information was made known. I hated the knowing. And I hated imagining how I’d feel if I were on the other side of myself.

So I guess that’s what this book has done to me—made me imagine how it would feel to be the fiancé unknowingly waiting for life-changing information to be shared with her—and it’s a bad feeling. The blind ignorance. The shock. The feeling of being second-best—of somehow not being good enough. It’s just…a bad feeling.

So for everyone who may be remembering and/or feeling any of those feelings tonight—
For whatever reason—
I offer prayers for peace and comfort right now.
And for everyone who is in any type of relationship—
For however long—
I offer prayers for honesty and respect;
for ears to hear and hearts to listen; and
for healthy wisdom and endurance to do the hard work of love—
wherever that work may lead.
Amen.

Confession: But By The Grace of God

A coworker asked me the other day how I remained so positive.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.
Because here’s the truth.
I’m really not a very positive person. At all.

In fact, when left on its own,
The script in my head is one of the most damning places one could ever be.
“You’re such a stupid piece of crap. You should just stay in bed instead of getting up and subjecting the world to your junk. You’re overbearing and ridiculously annoying. You think too much and talk too much and no one wants to be around you. You’re a pitifully sad excuse of a
minister and teacher.”

Those are the thoughts that stay with me, folks.
But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

When I’m rested and my appreciation tank is full,
I can quieten the lies.
But when I’m tired and overly stressed,
They are all that I can hear.
And when they’re all I can hear,
I get really messed up.
I feel lonely. So I talk more. Then I feel like I say too much and annoy people. So then I get mad at myself and want to disappear. But then I get lonely again. And when I say lonely, I mean deep down irrationally alone. So I talk about it and try not to turn it inward. But then I get mad at myself for burdening the world with my mess. And then I shut down and want to disappear because I dislike myself so much And cannot believe that anyone else would actually want me around.
Crazymaking, huh?

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

I’ve had to learn how to soften the lies and I have to face them every day.
Counseling has helped me build new neuro-pathways and
given me language for a new script.
I’ve learned to breathe and to give the Spirit space to settle.
I’ve learned the value of silence and contemplative prayer.
I’ve learned that I’m not alone in my damning thoughts and
that I do not have to carry them alone.
I’ve learned that people are praying for me, too…

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

We’re in this together.
And I believe in you.
Which is one positively true statement,
Even when I don’t believe in myself.

But by the grace of God, my friend. But by the grace of God.

*Selah*

Defining Moments: Please Fill This Emptiness

“I just saw some of your favorite artist’s work,” I read. “There’s a big display in an art gallery in Miami.”
“I love him,” I replied.
“I like him, too. His work makes me feel. And that’s a good thing in art.”

His work makes me feel, too, and it’s made me feel deeply since the moment I laid eyes upon it at Pop Art Gallery in Downtown Disney in July 2011.

After spending the week at a work event in Orlando, FL, my friend Amy and I stopped at Downtown Disney to get some food and visit some shops before beginning the drive back to South Carolina.

When we walked in Pop Art Gallery, Amy and I parted ways, each walking around the store to take in the sights on our own.

As soon as I looked at Fabio Napoleoni’s display wall, I was mesmerized. I stood there and gazed upon his paintings and prints, and I wept.

I felt sort of stupid standing in the middle of a busy store crying, but I couldn’t help it. Fabio’s work spoke to me in a way that no artist’s work had spoken to me before. I got it. It made me feel. And so I soaked it in respectful awe until Amy came around the corner, shook her head at my tears, and laughed at me for wearing my heart on my sleeve (and everything I own).

Fast forward a few months and find my brother at Downtown Disney. Having unsuccessfully been able to find Fabio’s work cheaper online and having been unable to get his images out of my mind, I asked my brother if he’d see if the piece that had resonated with me most deeply was still there. It was. And not only that, but Fabio was going to be at the gallery that next weekend. If I purchased the canvas then he would sign, date, and Remarque it for free.

I purchased the canvas. “Please Fill This Emptiness.” And to this day, when I look at it, I get it:
I get feeling beaten down. Exhausted. No energy left to keep going.
I get longing for love. Reaching. Hoping against hope that love will come.
I get being surrounded by beauty but only being able to stare at nothing.
I get being shielded by friends and family stepping in to hold the weight of the world.
I get it.

And tonight,
as I process the suicide of a former student and member of my youth group,
as I feel the hurts of those who have been emotionally damaged and abused,
as I still grieve Kay’s death and mourn the loss of baby Sam just two short months ago,
as I cry for students whose parents are so absent that they do not realize their child has no underwear,
I am reminded that I am not the only one who gets it—
Who prays each day,
God, please fill this emptiness.
Please.
Fill this emptiness.
Amen.

Defining Moments: Alaskan Hot Tub Cruise

No. I’ve not been on an Alaskan cruise. But an Alaskan cruise still changed my life. Here’s how:

My best friend, Angela, and our friend Jacqui went on an Alaskan cruise a few years ago. While on that cruise, and while relaxing in a hot tub, Angela met Edi, and now Angela and Edi are married.

Angela and I have known each other for nineteen years. We’ve experienced half of each other’s lives together and shared both joy and sorrow.

Singing together has been one of our greatest joys even though we cannot successfully sing the correct notes of “I Don’t Need Anything But You” from Annie no matter how hard we try—and trying to sing it to Angela’s daughter, Isabelle, today was no exception!

Grieving the loss of Angela’s dad ten years ago and the sudden death of her son, Sam, on Saturday have been our greatest sorrows.

Today, as I sat at Angela’s kitchen table with Edi, I laughed after he said, “You can have that piece of cake, honey.” “Thank you, sweetheart,” I responded, and then we sat and talked.

A little while before that exchange, I sat at that same kitchen table with Isabelle and smiled as she painted my finger nails a very bright pink. She’s two-and-a-half years old and has a newly painted room thanks to the painting efforts of Deanna and Jacqui. She also has a new favorite bath-time activity thanks to Deanna—the bubble beard.

And a little while later, I sat at the kitchen table again and shared a delicious meal with Angela’s family. As I ate, I was overwhelmed by the reality that had Angela and Jacqui not gone on that Alaskan cruise then Angela would not have met Edi; and if Angela and Edi had not met and fallen in love then Isabelle wouldn’t have been born; and if Isabelle wouldn’t have been born then I wouldn’t know an extremely intelligent, full of life little girl; and if I didn’t know Isabelle then I would be sad…

And if I hadn’t known Sam, then I would be sad, too.

As Angela’s uncle said at Sam’s funeral last night, Sam’s death sucks. There are no words to explain it. There is no way to understand it. It is heartbreaking reality that will impact us for the rest of our lives. But so will Sam’s “classic” life that created sweet memories for those of us who had the privilege of holding him, singing to him, loving him, and making him smile…

One of the songs that Angela and I can sing is “Never Saw Blue Like That,” and we’ve done just that many times before. The thing that both of us really like about the song is that it does not resolve at the end. Instead, it leaves the listener hanging—wanting more—and knowing that there is more to come…

For many years, Angela and I refused to call each other “best friend.” Each of us had had bad experiences with “best friends” leaving after the title had been bestowed, so we avoided the title. But somewhere along the way, we decided to stop avoiding the title and to just call it as it was. And I’m so glad we did…because together we now know that while all things do not end as projected, all will be well and that there is beauty yet to come…and it lies in cruises and hot tubs and cake and pet names and newly painted rooms and laughter and pink finger nail polish and bubble beards.

Defining Moments: Texting Love and Heartbreak

I began texting on January 13, 2006.

I remember the day and those first texting moments because they occurred while I was waiting for Griffin to enter this world.

Even though I still have what most people consider a dumb phone, things have changed drastically in my texting life since those first moments of filling in the blanks. Yes. I actually wrote out 160 blanks so that I could maximize the messages that I was planning to send!

I now have unlimited texting and send thousands of texts per month. I no longer have to look at what I’m writing to write something that actually makes sense. And I no longer use my phone to talk to people on a regular basis; instead, for better or for worse, my people and I usually just write.

So I knew something was off when I received a text Saturday that said, “Call me. It’s an emergency.”
And it was an emergency.
So I called.
And in the days since that call, I have written countless texts that I never imagined I’d write—some of which have turned into accidental poetry:
I just keeping shaking my head.
I don’t even know how to think.
Like my thoughts don’t formulate.
I start to speak and nothing really comes out.
There’s nowhere to begin or end.
There’s just no making sense of this.

One of which makes me cry every time I think of it:
He’s dead.

Another of which is the most important thing you or I can ever say to one another:
I love you so much.

I suppose it sounds trivial to say that the day I began to text was a defining moment in my life. Yet right now, during one of the most heart-breaking times of my life, I am beyond grateful to be able to communicate to those I love, anytime I want, middle of the night included:
I’m with you.
You are never, ever alone.
We will make it through this. Together. Somehow.
I love you so much.
I love you so very, very much…

------

My best friend’s five-month old son, Sam, died Saturday afternoon. This is the link to his obituary. Please pray for his family: http://www.oppfh.com/new_view.php?id=5341434

Pete The Plant and Other Scattered Thoughts

My thoughts this week have been very scattered. And so, too, this note will be. So bear with me, reader, as we journey through my mind and hopefully land on a few gems in what could be considered a jumble pile of rocks.

First, today is my grandmother’s 92nd birthday. Since I couldn’t be with her today, I sent her a card with one underlined word. G-mama always underlines special words in the cards she sends, so I wanted to do the same. There were only four words in the card, so I figured one was enough. Usually, we send each other a dollar or two in our cards. I chose not to send any money in today’s card, though, because I’m going to do what she tends to do for me on my birthday and give her one dollar for every year of her life. $92 dollars is a lot of dollars to send through the mail. So I will wait to give it to her when I visit her soon. Then hopefully I’ll get to drive her 1980’s Crown Victoria to the old lady hair salon and be with her when she uses part of her $92 for her weekly hair styling. I am grateful for G-mama. And I love her very much.

Second, I wrote last week about how I would be willing to hold my people’s sh*t if they needed it. And I would be. But I was reminded this week that that willingness is not necessarily mutual for many people in my life. Truth be known, I was reminded this week that I’m really not that important at all to some people—and the reminder hurt—and caused me to revisit feelings of loss and betrayal that are overwhelming and leave me feeling a bit lost and lonely and missing parts of a life that I used to know.

Third, I cried on the last day of school. And I realized that I’d finished my first year of teaching (part two) during the same week that I would have traveled to my organization’s annual meeting had I remained in my former job. Two years ago this week, I was in New Orleans riding pedi-cabs, laughing, and sharing delicious meals and beignets with my coworkers when we weren’t sitting in meetings. I led a workshop at the national meeting and spoke to nationally renowned leader and authors. My parents were in town for the meeting, too, so we hung out in a city far from home and I remember thinking that they’d driven a long way to be with me when it would be much closer to go to the annual meeting in years to come. I had no idea that that would be my last annual meeting and that my life would change so drastically in just three months. Fast forward two years and I’m standing in a decades-old gym in a school that is barely locally known, congratulating 5th graders that it took me most of the year to like, and I am crying. I am crying because I am proud of my students, and I am crying because I am certain that I am doing more missions now than I did in my three years of full-time vocational ministry. I am certain that I am exactly where I need to be…and yet…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being with my former staff at their annual meeting.

Fourth, Bullet stinks. When I got home from work yesterday, he was dirty and wet from running through a storm to get to the house, so I washed him in my tub, and he got mad at me, and he’s now soft and fluffy, and he was super cute when he fell asleep in my lap during a thunderstorm last night, but he still stinks. Yet I love him so much. And I’m thankful that he’s been my little alarm clock this week—waking me up before 6 each morning to play—reminding me that there is joy and excitement in each new day.

Fifth, I brought Pete the Plant home from work today. He’ll stay here for the summer. I spoke at a church a few years ago and my thank you gift was Pete the Plant. He stayed in my office at my former job. He moved home with me when I didn’t have a job. Then he moved to school with me when I finally got my classroom set up. I love Pete. He adds life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold.

Actually. I want to be like Pete.

I want to add life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold…
to dirty dog coats and gyms and pedi-cabs and birthday cards…
to human hearts and minds and bodies and souls…
even when they aren’t willing to hold my sh*t…
especially when they’ve been around a long time and are 92 years old.

Determined Dreamer

I spent a majority of my childhood at Tabor City Baptist Church. To this day, I dream about the halls and rooms of TCBC and feel certain that I could draw a floor plan if I were architecturally gifted.

I spent a majority of my early adulthood at Gentry Primary and Erwin Elementary Schools. I dream about each of these schools—my classrooms and huts—my students—and my Barb. Barb was my art teacher. We ate together, moved a lot of furniture together, produced performances together, made thousands of tie-dye t-shirts together, handed out fruit-cake together, ran down the halls of Gentry together, and pretty much lived our working lives together for 8 years.

I suppose that my dreaming about TCBC, Gentry, Erwin, and Barb could have a deeper meaning of unresolved issues and feelings or something else. I feel certain that if Dr. Brock is reading this, then he’s thinking beyond the surface of my dreams. But that’s not my focus today. My focus today is that I’ve been working in my sleep for the past few months and I’m therefore exhausted.

Take this morning, for example. I woke up late because I was determined to keep educating my students at Erwin about capitalism and human exploitation. There’s no way to write out the entire dream, but, in short, we had had an assembly—during which Barb and I sat in the back, giggled, and I wore no shoes—and I had decided to have my students write a poem or song about what they had learned. When we got to the classroom, however, we ended up debriefing the assembly and I tried to help my students visualize things, know how to use their imaginations, determine options for solving problems, compare something to a roller coaster, and understand capitalism as it related to dry erase boards vs. chalk boards.

In my dream, I guided the students to realize that the inventor of dry erase boards had created the need for them and thus wiped out (no pun intended) the need for chalk boards. In doing this, he forced schools to purchase new white boards, erasers, cleaner, and pens—the latter of which would easily run out, demand that schools constantly purchase new ones, and thus create hazardous trash that would fill landfills for thousands of years to come.

Each time I’d come close to making the connection to how this relates to human exploitation and what the students could do to stop it, a teacher would come get her class. During one period, entire families came with their students, but one family had left their baby at home because each parent thought the other had her. I assured them that the baby would be okay, that she was probably sleeping and didn’t even know she’d been left alone. So they went to get their baby, escorted by a childhood friend. And I taught. Through all six periods of the day, I taught. When I finally woke up, I realized that the teachers had been my alarm clock trying to get me out of bed.

There are days when I miss teaching. I miss the students and I miss the teachers. I miss the classrooms that I worked so hard to make quality learning environments and I miss the diversity of persons whom surrounded me. I miss singing and I miss music. But mostly, I miss my Barb.

I think it’s interesting that I spent last night teaching about human exploitation. It’s been a hard week. It’s been a week of heartache, division, slander, exposed lies, sadness, questions, judgment, and weaponry—God’s name being the biggest, most misused weapon of them all. I have doubted what I’m doing with my life and if my work and passions make any difference at all. I’ve felt overwhelmed and defeated more moments than not, and I’ve wept painful tears of brokenness and lost hope.

And yet…I dreamt of enduring friendship and the unwavering determination to educate about human exploitation—to educate about standing up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I dreamt of persevering when it would have been easier to give up. And I dreamt of jumping high enough to literally touch the ceiling and being surprised when my students told me that they didn’t start each day trying to do the same. I told them that they should—that it was fun!

Sometimes I struggle with the faith that was planted and nurtured at Tabor City Baptist Church. And sometimes I struggle with my call out of the public schools and into full-time vocational ministry. This week has been full of struggle. But I guess, at the end of the day, when I couldn’t see anything but four walls of limitation, my dreams showed their power and released me and gave me the strength—but not the peaceful sleep!—to go on.

Amen.

A Sad Maundy Thursday

I had a hard time deciding on my Facebook status question this morning. It’s Maundy Thursday. I didn’t think that a fun, random question was appropriate. And then I started weeping. It’s Maundy Thursday.

Even in Baptist tradition, we’re aware of the events of Good Friday. We know of the trials and the beatings and the brutal crucifixion of Jesus. We know that Good Friday was a very bad day—a very dark day in history—a very sad time for Jesus and his disciples. Jesus was condemned to a criminal’s death. The disciples didn’t understand. They wept. They were scared. The sadness and fear were palpable…

But what about Maundy Thursday? What about what Jesus must have been feeling then?

On Tuesday, I asked everyone about their favorite story of Jesus. My best friend’s mom wrote: Garden of Gethsemane, asking God to take the cup from me. It's comforting to know that even Jesus asked to be spared from the evils of life.

That’s one of my favorite stories, too. Yet it’s so extremely painful to read. To know that Jesus was in anguish. To know that he earnestly prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me…”. To know that he was scared. To know that he struggled with leaving behind the people that he loved—that he prayed for God to take care of them and to protect them from evil because he couldn’t do it anymore. To know that he had been betrayed by one of his disciples—by one of his friends in whom he had placed his trust. To know that he had cared enough to wash feet and that he had served his last meal for the last time and that he had sung a song with his disciples and that the life that he had enjoyed on earth was soon coming to an end…

I don’t know about you, but I am filled with sadness for Jesus. I am filled with sadness and grief and heartache and hurt for this man who loved unconditionally and sought to draw all persons in to the love of God. I am filled with sadness and grief and heartache and hurt for this man who felt sadness and grief and heartache and hurt just like me. Betrayal is not fun. Endings are not fun. Facing uncertainty and pain are not fun. Leaving behind loved ones is not fun. I know. I have experienced all of those things. And so did Jesus. On this day…this Maundy Thursday.

It’s appropriate, I think, that it’s a cloudy and overcast day. This is a sad day. Tomorrow is a sad day. I feel so sad for Jesus. I wish that I could give him a hug. I wish that I could remind him that everything is going to be okay. Because right now it doesn’t feel that way. Right now, on this Maundy Thursday, everything is just so sad. And right now, I feel more connected to Jesus’s humanity than ever before…