We Have Forgotten How to Sing of Sorrow

Do you draw near to pain or try to run away from it?

Do you welcome the tears of the hurting? Or are you uncomfortable when someone cries, willing them to stop or move on?

If I’m being honest, I don’t like pain. I don’t like sorrow. I want to spend as little time hurting as possible.

I haven’t always wanted to spend time with hurting people either. I’ve often been too afraid of saying something wrong, and would rather wait quietly until someone is done crying than of enter into their pain with them. I can’t imagine the depth of their pain, so I’d rather tread lightly or avoid it altogether.

What I’ve learned over the past couple years of living with sorrow, is that it is truly the kindest act to welcome someone’s tears.

When my tears begin to free fall because an unexpected pang of Emmi’s absence pricks my heart, I’ve felt most loved when others cry, too. I’ve felt loved when someone shares a memory of her. When I know someone else’s heart is broken because they also wish Emmi was still here, I’m no longer alone in my grief. I’m reassured that she isn’t forgotten.

More often than not, we’ve forgotten how to sing of sorrow.

We feel the need to hide our bleeding hearts and face the world with brave faces.

We don’t want to be honest about how we’re feeling or what we need, because we haven’t found safety for our vulnerable pain.

We don’t want to be honest with others, with ourselves, even God.

We wonder, “Is God there?”

“Is He really listening?”

“Does God even care?”

“Why would He allow this?”

“What if He doesn’t fix this?”

“Why is this tragedy happening to me?”

“I don’t feel like I can even pray anymore.”

All of our questions, all of our emotions, all of our tears, are welcome in the throne room of God.

Hebrews 4:14-16 CSB says, “Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens -Jesus the Son of God - let us hold fast to our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, let us approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in time of need.”

I’m learning the lost song of sorrow, lament.

When faced with Emmi’s unexpected funeral in February, a lament poured out of me. As I reread my Caring Bridge posts from the year she battled leukemia bravely, I can see where there were shadows of lament in my writing even then.

I’m not a professional lamenter. I’m not a professional griever. I wish I wasn’t even an amateur.

Join me on this blog as I learn how to honestly bring my sorrows to the throne room of God. Bring your sorrows, your burdens, your disappointments and heart breaks. Let’s rediscover this song of sorrow together.

I’ve created this page to build a community of honest lamenters. Let’s bring our brokenness back to God, because he cares for us.

What honest questions do you have right now? What feelings do you need to bring out of hiding?