Archive for the ‘suffering’ Tag

Who Tells Your Story: Part 2   1 comment

I offered a sweet retelling of my story in the last blog, but I am still snagged on the tragedy of the harm I have done. I can’t rewrite that. Love embraces me in my failures, but how can I feel relief when I know others still suffer for my failings? Even were I faultless, doing the best I could with my limited capacity, others are stabbed by my inadequacies… and can I ever claim to do my best—using every ounce of energy and intensity of focus and purity of motive? How can I be at peace in the face of their pain? I realize now that I have been secretly writing their story as well as my own, controlling the narrative, telling myself that the harm I did or good I failed to do is irreversible, scribbling whole chapters describing their continued suffering. In fact my suffering continues long after theirs is over–Taiho died many decades ago. Quite possibly I have suffered more from my harming others than they have suffered from my harm, and my self-torture has helped no one. It drains away my energy to do good. But how can I be okay if they are not okay because of me?

I can only trust a loving retelling of my story if the Author of my story is busy writing everyone else’s story as well. Grace must be not only big enough for me, but big enough for them. What if the Author took the harm I did to others and rewrote it for their good as only grace can do? Then I would be free of this weight of regret. Might I believe that grace is constantly at work reclaiming their hearts and lives, that their story is one full of grace, though not painless as no one’s is? What if I really believed that my wrongdoing was not simply overcome or counterbalanced by grace, perhaps by a kinder, healthier person in their life, but that my harm was actually leveraged into goodness, an instrument of grace to awaken or enlighten or invite into a more beautiful story in their lives? After all, this is my core belief, that Grace is always at work through all the ups and downs to invite us into deeper places of the heart.

Perhaps many through hurt have closed their hearts to grace, but I believe that grace will keep chasing them, even passed the veil of death, for love’s longing is never abandoned. Our evasion may be tenacious, but grace is more persistent still, never giving up until it has won us over. All that we suffer is an invitation by grace into deeper healing, understanding, and relationship. Pain will come. I may cause it. And grace turns it into a pallet to paint something amazing and beautiful, not only in me but in all those I touch. I may not yet see it but grace is always vibrantly present and at work. We cannot escape grace. It is the river we all swim in, immersing us from birth, surrounding all we do and fail to do with love. I write a false narrative of others when I leave out grace. I need to put down my pen and listen to grace’s telling.

Posted March 25, 2024 by janathankentgrace in thoughts

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Star-Crossed   6 comments

“Perhaps tragedies are only tragedies in the presence of love, which confers meaning to loss. Loss is not felt in the absence of love.” –Elizabeth Alexander

That is profound.

The greatest pain arises from the profoundest joy. To eliminate loss, one must abandon love since in this broken world suffering and death are not simply a risk, but a certainty.  Love inevitably leads to sorrow.  As C. S. Lewis so powerfully explained:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

Elizabeth Alexander originally wrote to mourn the loss of her young husband to sudden death.  “The story seems to begin with catastrophe,” she wrote, “but in fact began earlier and is not a tragedy but rather a love story.”  She is no Christian, but her personal journey reflects powerfully the great story of which we are all a part. Anywhere we open our book, we find tragedy–brutality, abandonment, hatred, violence, suffering–so that we must go back and back to the very start to discover that all this pain springs up from the love that inspired creation, and to understand that all of our suffering is borne in the great heart of God himself, who willingly embraced all our agony to gain the inexpressible joy of loving us.  The cross is a tragedy, but it is more fully and deeply and finally a love story, and the end will be glorious.

Posted June 12, 2015 by janathangrace in thoughts

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