When the Year Begins Heavy
What do you need held in the Light?
This post and the comments are open for everyone. Say words if you need to.
I had a post almost ready to share but I’m going to hold it until next week as the world feels particularly heavy right now.
Former President Jimmy Carter is being laid to rest today.
Fires still rage in communities in and around Los Angeles and entire neighborhoods and livelihoods and homes and even some lives are just gone. The scope of it is staggering.
And then I learned a few hours ago, at a church very near our house, there is a a funeral service for a local police officer who died in the line of duty just days before Christmas. The Avett Brothers sang In The Garden just a few minutes ago. There will soon be a 21-gun salute.
In your own family, town, city, or circumstances, I know you have sorrows that have taken you by surprise this year, this week, today. Saying them out loud won’t fix them. But sometimes it helps an inch just to have people bear witness.
Next week I’ll publish the post I had planned for today. But for now I’ll share a few words I also shared on Instagram earlier, for those in Los Angeles and anyone else carrying shock, grief, or sadness today:
I am holding all of you in the light.
This is a Quaker phrase that means:
I will face you.
I will not forget you.
I will keep you in my heart in the presence of God, who is Light.
The comments are open if you would like to add any words (a sentence, a word, a prayer, anything) below. Or you can simply comment light and we’ll know what you mean.
As always, I’m glad you’re here.
epf
This is from todays midday prayer on Lectio365:
Holy Spirit, I pray for someone who is sick, wounded, despairing or grieving. I pray that even in the valley of the shadow of death, they would fear no evil, knowing You are with them. I pray for a renewed expectation that You are still the God of life, the God who chases away shadows with the light of Your kindness, the God who tenderly wipes away every tear from their eyes. Draw near to the sorrowful now - to remove or redeem the sting of death.
When I went to bed last night, I was keenly aware of how many people in Southern CA whose bed was gone. I felt guilty. Why did I get to have a cozy bed and they didn't? Those are questions without answers. The events of the past few days have once again reminded me to be grateful this moment, right here, right now. I thank God for my bed, for my refrigerator, for clothing. I pray for those without the essentials right now.