"If I didn't care
then it wouldn't
hurt so much."
something I tell myself
(almost daily sometimes)
especially when the world spins
on her broken axis and evil seems
to flourish with every revolution—
sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much
"You're too sensitive."
something I grew up hearing
(what felt like daily)
my tears were tiny but mighty traitors,
my tender heart— a bitter enemy.
but when I read of Jesus and
how he heard the crowd
around Lazarus’ tomb singing
their songs of languishing lament
and what he did as he looked Mary
in her tear-stained face—
“he wept.”
john 11:35 says.
“How he loved him!”
they said on seeing his tears
and reading this, I know that Jesus
knows the daily crushing
weight of grief.
and God did not chide him for weeping
even though he knew how it would all work out.
even though he himself held the power
to raise Lazarus from the dead—
to turn all those tears of mourning
into leaping, dancing shouts of joy.
so I suppose that I am not too sensitive after all—
I who do not know the ending of this story.
I who have no idea how it will all work out.
I who can only hope and watch and pray
kneeling at the feet of Jesus, weeping like Mary
confused and angry—almost accusing:
“if you had only been here
my brother would not have died.”
this declaration a statement of faith—
my anger a show of trust
in a Jesus large enough to hold my rage, my tears,
my confusion, my longing, my wondering
and all this ache that I can scarcely name.
and in the end, surrendering—
trusting that he can resurrect
with a word or a breath,
that he will be there in my weeping
over all that I must lay to rest.
trusting that the pain I carry
with all this caring
will also in time
be redeemed.
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Grace Kelley 