Beautiful the mess we are
A little note inspired by some reading and the coming of Christmas
A while back, after reading Alex Dobrenko's piece, Beautiful Disasters, I was reminded of Amy Grant's song "Better Than a Hallelujah". Alex's piece was such a raw and vulnerable peek into addiction and, more generally, the power of our biology. As I read it, I was struck by every moment when past Alex longs for another person to just get it. Many times I've felt the same when given advice about anxiety. I often find myself thinking - if it were that easy, I wouldn't be having this problem. Sometimes, instead of needing "help" we need someone to listen and someone to just get it. Maybe we aren't ready to fix things. Or maybe fixing things feels so big and exhausting and we just need a break. What we want is to simply be loved, accepted, and maybe even understood. As we are. In our mess.
Back to the song. The chorus goes like this:
We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah
Our honest cries - better than a Hallelujah. I've been learning that love sometimes looks like this - the desire to be trusted with someone's brokenness and/or pain. That it can sometimes mean more to be trusted with someone's pains than with their joys. Having learned somehow that to lean on others is to be a burden, the idea that someone might WANT to hear my struggles is kinda mind-blowing. At the same time, when I think about the people I love and what a gift it is to hold space for them, I can see that it doesn't have to be a burden. Isn't being held in our pain and messiness what all of us long for? I mean, to really be seen. For someone to look at us and be able to truthfully say, I get it. To look at our mess and say - beautiful. Even this is beautiful. Allowing ourselves to be witnessed is a gift to those who truly love us.
Beautiful the mess we are
It's been a journey for me to get to a place where I can look at myself this way - a beautiful mess. It's not perfect, but I've gotten better at looking at my struggling parts and loving them. Seeing how they make sense. It's from that place of understanding that I find I'm more able to make shifts. I have to "get it" first. Allowing others to give me this gift is another story. I'm still working on allowing myself to be seen and held by others. Carrying it all myself is hard to unlearn.
The honest cries of breaking hearts
In the book Cassandra Speaks by Elizabeth Lesser (which, btw
is exploring with her community right now) is the story of Hagar from the Hebrew Bible. Hagar is the first to name God El-Roi - the God who sees me. I love this title and the affirmation that comes with it. The affirmation that there is someone out there who sees us. Really sees us. Then, as if we refuse to believe that we are seen and that someone gets it, the Christian Bible tell us that God incarnates in Jesus and gets first-hand experience. From the vulnerability of a tiny baby, to a horrible death on a cross. The pain, the suffering, the joy, the oppression, the anger - all of it. And all while walking alongside people from the margins. That's a God who sees me.Better than a Hallelujah
I don't write much about faith in this newsletter. Like many parts of my human life, mine is messy, and it's deeply vulnerable. But these stories help me feel closer to believing that I am seen. Beautiful the mess I am. That there's always someone that gets it. Everything is easier to carry when you aren't carrying it alone. Feeling loved in my mess helps me hold that love for myself as well as for others.
God just hears a melody
May light find you in the darkness this winter season. May you feel fully seen and loved still.
Merry Christmas if you celebrate and Happy New Year to all.
