Sunday, November 6, 2011

Downcast

Sundays seem so happy, so chattery. 

"Greet your neighbor.  Stand and sing.  Take the hand of the person next to you."

Where can I sit if I really don't have that in me today?

"Perhaps your heart is heavy.  Perhaps you're struggling today."

Yes.  And yes.

I have always loved to worship alongside my family and friends.  There is no greater movement than the outpouring of hearts together, I am convinced.  But now everything seems so happy, so loud, so overwhelming.

I stay as long as I can.  The discipline is good for my spirit, and I have my six-year-old who sits beside me, watching and learning.  In teaching him, I hope my heart will learn anew.

I cry easily in worship.  In other seasons, I cried from the spilling fullness of my heart.  In earlier months, I cried because I could feel the absence of my life's companion beside me, the silence of his voice singing with mine.  Now, if I feel enough to cry at all, I cry because I long for the joy of it all.  I once cried because Robb is not here; now I cry because I am not there.  I no longer want him back.  I want to join him where he is.

I know a new kind of worship, and I find it most inviting when I am quiet and alone with the Alone.  When I join the throngs, it all feels so hard to keep up.

This morning, I praise the Lord who does not demand a pace. 
I praise the Shepherd who will leave the flock to find the lamb who is lost, the one that cannot keep up.

I praise the Lord who has come to me.

~ ~ ~

As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
while men say to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"
These things I remember as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go with the multitude,
leading the procession to the house of God,
with shouts of joy and thanksgiving
among the festive throng.
Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.

Psalm 42

4 comments:

Jaimie said...

I feel this way, although I have had an admittedly easy life. Maybe because I'm an artist; I'm naturally melancholic. But I don't like loud worship. I like the quiet strumming of a guitar, maybe a piano. No shaking hands, please. What is that? Weird, that's what it is. Remnants of the 19th century. It's hard to stop a tradition even if 9 out of 10 people don't like it anymore.

When I join the throngs, it all feels so hard to keep up.

Maybe it's not that you can't keep up but that they can't slow down.

my3boys said...

"I praise the Shepherd who will leave the flock to find the lamb who is lost, the one that cannot keep up."

I love this sentence and it's context. My favorite author: YOU!

Allison said...

"I once cried because Robb is not here; now I cry because I am not there."

Yes, yes, yes. That is definitely part of the grief progression in my experience. Thanks for getting into my head.

Mrs. MK said...

beautiful expression of where the grieving find themselves...