Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Storytelling and Silence

This is not a story I tell often.  Often enough.  It is uncomfortable for everyone but me.  So, I sit down tonight at the least convenient and thoughtful of times to write between the noise and chaos.  After all, that is how our story, their story is usually told.  It pops up out of nowhere, inconvenient but beautiful.  In the grocery store check out line.  Meeting someone new at a home school group.  Talking with a soldier who was deployed when his wife miscarried. I carry it in my pocket always an accordian of snapshots to unfold our past, our grief before perfect strangers.

I have discovered how uncomfortable grief really is for those who are not walking the journey.  I discovered it first from the listener's side while I was in college.  I was young.  Cool.  Too insecure in myself.  Too comfortable in my safe world. 

A couple, dear friends in ministry, lost their first.  They called her Sarah.  I never said a word to them.   Not a word.  Of encouragement.  Of sorrow.  Of sympathy.  Silence.  Until years later.  Seven to be exact.

To be continued.

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