April 20, 2011

• The Good, The Bad…

  The Ugly things of life has reared its ugly head on the valley this week. There is no preparing for something like this. Being cognizant of the ever-cycling stages of grief doesn’t help. Kubler-Ross (the woman who is known for developing the DABDA stages) could take some hints from me. I’d recommend that she throw in words like “confusion,” “numbness,” “irrationality,” “confusion,” “fear,” “mistrust,” and  did I mention “confusion” again…? Instead of DABDA (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) I’d have DACANCFDABDCIFACA….  Not as easy to remember for a Psych 101 test.

  In the end though, both our lists end with A: “acceptance.”

  I was already upset with God when I got the news that one of our students had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I was already upset that He had thwarted my plans for the week. A plan that would’ve blessed these students immeasurably. A plan that would’ve fit perfectly in the scheme of then-present things. I could say this because I was confident in my ability to see the future (God has had to humble me recently). I was upset and confused and angry already. He was already chiding me. I was already resisting Him. Already threatening to be forever scarred. 

  And then Thursday night when all the faculty and staff were called for an “emergency meeting” in the church, where the already-disastrous Week of Prayer was taking place for the students, and the vice principal sobbed the news in the fellowship hall to a shocked group which was then told to “go and be a comfort for the students.” It is a tremendously awful sight to see a campus in mourning. I won’t ever forget it. 

  Ever since the announcement on campus of my 4-year senior’s death, I’ve been dreading work. Dreading coming to school. Dreading the campus. Dreading being here. Dreading thinking about class parties, and class meetings, and class trips, and graduation. Dreading the future, dreading the past, and dragging through the present. Dreading having to be the senior class sponsor and dreading the thought that I may cry again. 

  I’ve been short with everyone. Angry. Upset. Mean. I’ve been telling kids to “keep it down!” “go to class!” and a slew of other comments that I quickly swallow before the funnel of destruction leaps out of my mouth to consume them. 

  I’m angrier at people who bother me, less tolerant of people I don’t want to see, less forgiving of character flaws, less desiring to give help and offer advice. Sure, it sounds very much like a textbook case of the “Anger” phase of grieving. But I don’t care. I’m angry. Not at anyone in particular. I’m just a grump. I don’t want to be around myself. I’m mad that I couldn’t protect him. I’m mad that I wasn’t consulted about this. I’m mad that I thought I should be consulted about this. I’m mad that there is yet little I can do to make everything better. I’m mad that I chose this one incident to mourn over versus the accumulated hundreds that I hear about on the news in any given year. I’m mad that I’m being so irrational. I’m mad that I’m being so irrational about someone that wasn’t even my own. Not my brother. Not my friend. Not my son. I feel as though I’m intruding. 

  

  His middle name was Sterling. That always struck me about him.

  I can’t use certain phrases anymore without realizing how awful it sounds in context. How easily we throw around words about death and dying. And how I can’t laugh about it or brush it aside. We throw each other “under the bus.” We tell someone we’ll “kill” them for trivial matters. We are struck, but not killed. No, not like he was killed…

  I need a break. And I know that it’s not a break I want. I carry this home with me.

  But in the end, I found Him. Not past the faces of the dead that I keep seeing in my mind. Not past the thought that I might’ve caught him outside my window, going about routines as normal. Not past the hope that I could think, Whew. I guess it was all just a misunderstanding.

  No, in the end I found Him, God, my Friend, Lover of my soul, not past all these things but in all these things. In the depths of my despair, He was there. Strong and gleaming as ever He was on the mountain top. My fortress and my shield, my comfort.  

  He comes to me as a balm from a faraway place, unknown and unvisited. He comes through students who still need my help. Through promptings of the Spirit. He comes through seasons of prayer, and laughter, and love. He comes through the knowledge that there is yet an infinite vastness of things I have yet to learn about the God I claim to love and follow. He comes through my anger and exhaustion and sorrow. 

  I am understanding the words of Psalm 139 better: “whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed I hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.” (v 7-10)

  So there He is. The same, yesterday, today, and forever. I just never had to see Him in that light. But I had a good look. And He’s the same. I promise. 

  Why and how this lesson must be learned is still something I am grappling with. But in the end, I acknowledge: He does all things well. In my exhaustion, I realize that I beat only against the air. He is good. And evermore so. He is kind. And He is King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. If there is one thing I have taken from this, it must be called submission. 

  • 8:32 pm
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