Hope is like believing someone. A feeling of trust or something like that. Hope is hmmmmm.
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2020 is covered by a dark cloud of hopelessness. A cloud that threatens to suffocate us. A cloud that shows no signs of dissipating.
This overwhelming presence of hopelessness continues to creep toward us and pound on the door to our mind, body, and soul wanting us to give up and let it come pouring in.
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A candle flickers
in the night
And the breather of breath
purses her lips
letting out
a slow and gentle
lifeline.
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I hope you would see me
Before a hashtag precedes my name
Before my face is a mural on a brick façade
I hope you would see me
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When we believe the lie that our individual choices do not impact the collective, we are comforted by our despair. We assuage our anxiety and release ourselves from responsibility or action. Hopelessness is a kind of numbness that desensitizes us to our world and ourselves.
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Time flies. And the formless, empty places of my heart, are a greater part, partially because I cannot find my heart. A heart where spaces feel empty – like before they were transformed.
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How will hope hold the complexity of systems, people, polarized political parties, governments, estranged friends – faith communities divided? Is hope light enough to find goodness and heavy enough to sit in despair? Will hope provide for the hopeless without asking me or them to live in fantasy?
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Those who have passed, whose blood cries out to us – the Abels, wait for us to begin to slow down. We have a difficult choice. Will we listen? In a time of protesting, rioting, anger and rage, the blood of Abel deserves an answer.
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So, you are asking what to do? Your eager to find hope? You’re rushing to grief?
Then, do the hard and bloody work of fighting for hope.
Repent. Repent. Repent.
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The sun stopped in the middle of the sky and delayed going down about a full day. 14 There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the Lord listened to a human being. Surely the Lord was fighting for Israel!”
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I want to mourn, I want to grieve, but I’m not ready to be comforted, not yet. I won’t be rushed to be comforted. I won’t be rushed to let go of my anger. I won’t be rushed through my rage. I cannot be. I don’t want to be. I want to linger.
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Jesus stood in front of the donkey, got on it, no scars yet and they all cheered as he entered the city. I cannot watch the live feed of Facebook without wondering if I am another onlooker, or observer, cheering for the next great moment of harm in someone’s life.
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I love words
I have none
Tell me,
How do you create without a brush?
I live, do I?
I’m real, am I?
I’m living in a middle space
There are words, drinks, business, and laughs
But also I’m alone
Read MoreLet’s stop, and remember Cinco de Mayo.
Cinco De Mayo is …
The day to stand, united.
So, pull out your pens. Write your lawmakers.
Repent of idol worship.
Stand with the marginalized.
Be fully present in their suffering.
The native Zapotec and Mexican fighters didn’t know they would survive the onslaught. Zapotec and Mexican heroes were fighting for the land under their feet — saying no to wealthy French landowners financing an unjust war — liberating their bodies from foreign domination.
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“Han is a sense of unresolved resentment against injustice suffered, a sense of helplessness because of the overwhelming odds against, a feeling of acute pain of sorrow in one’s guts and bowels making the whole body write and wriggle, and an obstinate urge to take “revenge” and to right the wrong all these combined.”
Young-Hak Hyun, Korean Theologian
You in? If you weren’t in “the anxiety club” or very anxious before, there’s a chance you’ve experienced heightened levels of anxiety during the past 4-6 weeks.
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Read MoreThe sun rises,
The sun sets
The moon rises
The moon sets
I rise
I set
Despierto contigo,
Separados
Y juntos
Read MoreI’ve not had a good relationship with grief. My wise friend, Gloria Huh (on #thearisepodcast this week) shared with me that regardless of my awareness, I’ve been building a relationship with grief. Well, she’s right. My relationship with grief is not open or welcoming. It’s stiff, resistant, and at times, hostile.
(Every week I have been asking my children to journal about how they feel and today my 8-year-old boy gave me a list of 5 items. See if you resonate.)
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