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I Forgot About the Lambs
March 11, 2011
Yesterday was our last winter share farm pick up. There were little lambs to visit.
I forgot this was lambing season.
A lot of my energy this week has been directed to serving others and supporting our friends through their terrible loss. I am vaguely aware of the season shifting around me. Even in sorrow it's impossible not to notice the days of rain, the flood watch warnings on the radio, the melting mounds of dirty snow on the roadsides and other signs of early spring in Maine.
This morning on my way through the check out at the grocery store I was asked by the cashier "How are you today?"
I have always disliked this particular social etiquette. I don't like meaningless conversation and so I don't ask strangers how they are doing unless I truly want to know. In which case, many strangers wouldn't give you an honest answer anyway.
My honest answer today is "distracted, sorrowful, melancholy and achingly grateful for all the blessings in my life." How do you tell that to the cashier at the grocery store, the optometrist's assistant who fits your new glasses, or the children's librarian checking out your books?
It occured to me I must interact with a lot of hurting people but have no idea the pain they might be suffering. Duh.
I know this is just common sense for most people but I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes. I'm also not naturally gifted with a lot of empathy. This is not an excuse, it's just the truth.
I'm not sure what to do with this knowledge.
In general I feel the need to guard my heart from large scale suffering and hurt so I can focus my energies on keeping home and raising children.
As a nurturer I can feel relationship related pains (is there really any other kind) very deeply and the constant distraction of a hurting heart would be not only difficult but honestly, just sad.
I like being happy. I like having fun. I like seeing beauty.
But that is not reality for everyone all the time. In fact, it's not even reality for many people most of the time. That is heartbreaking.
I just can't think about that right now - heartbreak the world over. I have too many near and present griefs to bear.
And yet... there is beauty, laughter, grace and new life.
Family who came for a visit this week. A supper scheduled long in advance with Damien's cousins who were on a ski vacation in Maine. It felt so good to smile and laugh and connect with kin.
A friend's newborn baby - a whooping 13 pounder. Born at home, unassisted (as planned). A triumphant mom, a proud big brother and a pot of soup delivered with fresh bakery bread to say "congratulations and welcome (not so) little one".
I have bounced this week between joy and heartache but have mostly hung out on the blue side of the spectrum.
This is ok. I am accepting my emotions, whatever they may be. And asking for grace as I move through difficult terrain.
What more can I do?
I am ready to write again, I think. Remember those things I was so excited to share with you? I still am, but with a more subdued enthusiasm.
I don't want to step over this pain. I know I need to walk through it. And yet I don't want to linger in this spot either. Quite simply, I can't. There is a move on the very near horizon. There are children and chores.
And as I look around me I see that life stops for no grief. New sufferings compound the old - earthquakes, tsunamis, and fires. And yet new life will not be stopped either. Babies joyously arrive. Green peeps through the crusty snow.
And lambs are born.
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Kika on March 12, 2011, 1:56 a.m.
I feel things so deeply and have spent much of my life trying NOT to feel... which led to addiction issues (anything to numb the pain). We do need to learn how to allow the grief and the reality of a broken, suffering world, to change us for the better. For example, a willingness to really see people, a willingness to cry with a friend, or to take action to make a difference in this world. But, like you, I can't function if I spend too much time dwelling on the pain. Recently, my decision to just read for fun was sparked because I had been reading so many books about social justice issues and I felt incapacitated by all that is wrong in this world. I'm still learning in this area (big time) but I know that I never want to be one to stick my head in the sand and pretend that suffering is not present but I also want to learn how to maintain a deep, deep peace and joy in the midst of it all.
I am like you, too, in that I detest when people (even friends) ask "how are you?" unless they truly want to know and have the time to talk. Otherwise it feels so incredibly meaningless to ask.
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desilou on March 12, 2011, 3:13 a.m.
"I am like you, too, in that I detest when people (even friends) ask "how are you?" unless they truly want to know and have the time to talk. Otherwise it feels so incredibly meaningless to ask."
I agree as well!
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Leilani on March 12, 2011, 3:08 a.m.
I've been thinking of you this week and cautiously checking my reader to see if you'd returned to blogland yet. Just know that our thoughts and prayers are not only for your friends, but also for you...
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desilou on March 12, 2011, 3:12 a.m.
Thank you for sharing this. Beautiful and thoughtful, considerate of the place you and your friends are in right now. Been praying for you, yours and your friends and will continue.
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Ginger Allman on March 12, 2011, 4:21 a.m.
Oh Renee, you have brought tears to my eyes. The losses and tragedies of which you speak have been on my mind. And like you I also find that I need to focus on my children and feel torn between the joy of this life and the losses that happen. You have very eloquently described exactly how I feel. Thank you for your words. Thank you for the peace you give.
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Claudia on March 12, 2011, 8:15 p.m.
Beautiful, Renee. Every perfect word.
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kyndale on March 13, 2011, 4:25 a.m.
Beautiful Renee, really. ♥
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bethany on March 13, 2011, 6:50 a.m.
Beautiful, as always, and so refreshingly honest. I've been wondering about your friends and week, and had it tucked in the back of my mind when I blogged today about my web of empathy. i too am not naturally gifted with a lot of it, and sometimes struggle with how much i feel, and some guilt when i don't. i do know though that it comes to me when it's really needed, in the near and present pains of those i know and love. i'm so glad you had some bright spots, may they continue to shine.
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Nicola @ Which Name? on March 13, 2011, 11:32 p.m.
You said what I have felt so much better than I ever could. I was nodding along. And the deep world hurts, when I do let it in, the word I learned for it was the German word, weltshmerz, world pain. It seeped in this week for me with all the horrid news of the week. Continuing thoughts for your friends.
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Marianna on March 14, 2011, 2:29 a.m.
You've given me something to think about. Especially in light of an incident I had with a neighbor this past week. We aren't particularly close, talking on the daily walk to school for a few minutes. I haven't seen her at all this school year however, until the other night at school open house. I was so happy to see her and, of course, opened the conversation with how are you. I quickly realized that her absence has a not so simple explanation, but we aren't close enough for her to be comfortable sharing with me details. I left the conversation feeling out of sorts--realizing that she was not o.k., but also feeling unable to offer direct help. In hindsight, I wish I had opened with a statement about how pleased I was to say her and how much I've missed her--this would have at least been more representative of what I was feeling vs. some generic platitude.
My heart breaks for your friends family. They are in my prayers.
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renee on March 14, 2011, 12:16 p.m.
Marianna,
This is an interesting insight from your own experience. It's hard to think on the spot sometimes. I also struggle with something similar related to asking people "what they do", ie: for work. I find that whole conversation to be awkward also.
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erin @ exhale. return to center. on March 15, 2011, 1:07 p.m.
renee,
i've been offline for a bit focusing on some majjor transitions in my own world and am now catching up. i'm so deeply sorry for your family and friends and the loss you are all grieving.
you words in this post really touched me today -- on so many levels. thank you.
love + light...
~erin
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Emily on March 11, 2011, 11:51 p.m.
This is beautiful. It's from your heart. The feelings you've expressed are real. They are real for so many, and so many can relate. It's so helpful for you to feel them and to express them. Writing can be so theraputic when we're suffering and feeling melancholy. Thank you for opening your heart. By your sharing this, it somehow shares the burden with strangers just like me. You, your family, and the other family still are in my thoughts constantly. I care.