Days 7-8: Lament

Saturday night, I went to Nate with all my hurt and anger. I said (nearly) everything that was pissing me off, that was keeping me from any sense of healing. I felt only OK afterwards, but a day later, I feel even better. I testified to my reality. I named it for what it was.

I think this is lament.

*

At church yesterday:

Liz: How’s your June treating you?
Me: Um, not so well.
Liz: Oh, did something happen?
Me: My boyfriend broke up with me. [TEARS]
Liz: Oh, no! I’m so sorry. Did it just happen this week?
Me: [SAD NODS]
Liz: Thank you for telling me. I know it’s easy to just say you’re OK.

I don’t like telling people how I’m “actually” doing. I’d prefer not to, really. Usually my tired eyes and messy hair speak the real truth anyway. But I wanted to tell the people at my church, Wits’ End, the truth. (Many of them already know from these blog posts.)

*

The book of Lamentations tells the story of Jerusalem’s destruction. It’s a four-chapter poem of lament.

When Phil taught from this book last year, he talked about its structure. Chapters 1, 2, and 4 are acrostic poems–each line corresponds with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet. (As an aspiring poet, I love this. It’s like, oh, I’m not just going to write a hodge-podge of feelings. I’m going to have some poetic structure to it.)

But something happens in chapter 3. The writer does not carry on the form of the other chapters; there’s no pattern to its form. The writer gives up.

It’s like he is saying, oh, fuck it! The pain is too bad to keep up some stupid poetic form.

*

In this past week, I have often told Nate that I’m angry and that I’m hurt. I don’t know what he’s supposed to do with these words, and I’m sure they hurt to hear. But I need to bear witness to what’s going on. I need to not deceive myself into thinking everything’s OK when everything’s not OK.

(Because, sheesh, everything’s not OK.)

*

But of course, because I’m two weeks from graduating, my lament takes a special form. I can’t just stop working. I cannot wear all black, cover the windows, and go into mourning. (And I’m not sure that would be necessary either!)

So I push through.

I used to love this George MacDonald quote because of how practical it felt to me, as a girl with so much anxiety. I think it’s good for me to hear and live it out again:

Try not to feel good when thou art not good, but cry to Him who is good. He changes not because thou changest. Nay, he has an especial tenderness of love towards thee for that thou art in the dark and hast no light, and his heart is glad when thou dost arise and say, “I will go to my Father.” … Then fold the arms of thy faith, and wait in quietness until light goes up in thy darkness. Fold the arms of thy Faith I say, but not of thy Action: bethink thee of something that thou oughtest to do, and go and do it, if it be but the sweeping of a room, or the preparing of a meal, or a visit to a friend. Heed not thy feelings: Do thy work.

June 16, 2014

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