Joy and Sorrow

“Joy and sorrow woven fine”...so said the poet Blake. I have been thinking about joy and sorrow this month. I think with joy about the new infants who have joined our community recently. It is such a delight to hear their sweet voices during the service. It is a joy to see the young ones getting older and learning to talk and walk and turning into amazing little people.

I also think about so many in our congregation who are dealing with serious illness, or caring for a loved one who is facing such trouble. I think about those who have lost family members to death. None of it is easy. I wish I could wrap a blanket of kindness around each person who is hurting. And maybe that is what church is all about—not that any of us can do it individually, but that all together, we can offer kindness and caring to those who hurt.

I just want to mention that so many of you hesitate to ask for help for yourselves! We are a congregation of giving people, but remember, receiving is also a blessing—please reach out if you need a listening ear, or a little help. I am always happy to get your call, or find a time to meet over tea. And our Pastoral Care Team and Caring Connection feel the same way too. 

And to take my own advice, I want to let you know that my partner Margy has been diagnosed with granulosa cell tumor, a rare kind of ovarian cancer. It generally has a good prognosis, though one never knows for sure. She will be having surgery on March 12^th, and be in the hospital for a few days. I will be taking a few days off to be with her and take care of her when she comes home. And likely, we'll be calling the Caring Connection for help with a few meals when she comes home. I am feeling joyful that the prognosis is good, but sad that she has to go through the ordeal of surgery. I love her very much.

Life is full of joy and sorrow, and we all deal with it. I am reminded of Louise Erdrich's words, in her novel The Painted Drum:

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.