Here is Where I Come to Grieve

Here is where I come to grieve

Down at the River because She knows me best

when I am broken.

A Mother calling her lost child home.

She speaks so softly I have to bend down,

bow low to hear,

sift through the sounds of breezes, sorrow,

and the morning cries of wild things.

Knees on sandy banks, stones like thorns in my flesh,

my ear to her watery lips.

I close tight my eyes

my heart racing with desire,

desperation.

“All things are flowing,” She whispers,

Her voice ripples across pain.

I wait. Still.

There must be something more.

Something better.

Something deeper.

She bears me in silence, understanding

this is not the brand of relief for which I long.

I unfold, brush away the rocks and ragged shells,

start to leave Her.

You see,

I don’t want things to flow.

I don’t want my anger to float past

my hurt to sail off

I don’t want what aches so deep I forget its name

to drift from my clutch.

I want it all to freeze in place,

fossilize in time,

the weight of it to be solid as earth.

And yet,

I also want to break open and spill into her

to let all of myself be washed away,

baptized, sanctified, or at least emptied

of this warring around and within me.

I hear Her call to me,

Child,

and I walk into Her until my heart is held.

I take a breath and fall,

all of this, into Her Wide Brown Arms

because I know She knows

Here is where I come for comfort.

Here is where I come when I cannot remember

where I belong anymore.

Here is where I lay it all down.

Here is where I come to grieve.

You are invited to a weekly Service of Lament, “Here is Where I Come to Grieve,” a time of sharing our grief about violence and war. We will gather for about twenty minutes each week at Noon on Thursdays, beginning this Thursday, October 26, at the Chapel in the First Presbyterian Church, 215 Locust Street NE, Albuquerque, 87102.

 You are the Light of the World.

With Love,

Lynne