Sadness crept closer
with each chapter I read.
Then it slipped in beside me when
the father left too.
It was still there the next day
and the day after that.
Sadness kept coming in
through the tiny crack of a story
that wasn’t even mine.
tender
fragile
close to tears
It didn’t have words.
It didn’t need them.
One person’s suffering
is enough for us all,
enough
to touch into mine,
my story of abandonment.
My pain
wanted to be seen
and felt.
My suffering has asked for this
so many times,
but every time,
like the father,
I left.
My suffering doesn’t leave.
It patiently waits for another story,
another crack,
that allows it in
for a little
while
longer.
What was my first word? I asked him, and he said: Don’t. I asked him what my second word was but he couldn’t remember. I think I’d have made something up if I was him. Like go.
―A Complicated Kindness
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Eastertide Reflection 2
The second posture Heather Ruce shared with us on that Easter Saturday retreat, was to stand, spine straight, firm in our Centre. In this solid place, we open to what is–see it, feel it with Christ, in Christ. We open our eyes to the suffering within and around us. Like Ignatius’ meditation on the Third Degree of Humility, we willingly, and intentionally face what is not comfortable. We go with Christ where he always goes–into suffering. We hold the question, “What am I being asked to see and bear?”
An Everyday Pilgrim 