I am 63 and this is the first time I think I felt the emotions of the day…the betrayal, the lies that were spoken, the sadness. I want to rush through them but am trying not to go there and allow myself this experience. Your message was perfect
Your message spoke to me on many levels. I'm ashamed to say my words and actions fostered the death of a marriage. I did not love well...then only 2 months after my divorce was final, my husband passed away suddenly. So many regrets and not enough time to make things right. The waves of grief overtake me at times-the loss of my love and the loss of time to make things right. Now I'm grieving the loss of my father's health and the person he once was...sickness of the body and mind have changed the person I once knew. I'm thankful for your message that we can hold both grief and hope at the same time...when you said "death will never be the end of the story of love", that gives me so much hope.
Your writing was very helpful to me. I always have found Holy Week to be a sad series of days, but especially this year with all that’s going on in our world. Thanks for reminding me that our sadness is deep because our love is so great. Easter blessings to you. 🌷
“ If, like me, you’re more likely to wallow in the sadness, make room for just a sliver of hope.” - This was just what I needed to hear today - thank you Jeff
Thank you for sharing your thoughts . For those of us who struggle not having a "church home", today I long for the sharing,the community, the holy moments that come with music, scripture...dimming the lights,sitting in darkness together,leaving in silence. In my own meditations, and words from you,from Sarah,and others I find that community and am thankful.
I appreciate the wisdom here: “If you’re prone to rush to positivity, sit in the reality of grief. If, like me, you’re more likely to wallow in the sadness, make room for just a sliver of hope. If your inclination is toward insistent, almost pathological sunniness, perhaps you can invite yourself to contemplate the clouds. If your tendency is to see things in monochrome, maybe you can offer yourself the gift of recognizing that even a gloomy day contains a thousand shades of gray—an ever-changing dance of cloud and, somewhere out there, distant as it might seem, sun.” I’ve been both the one prone to wallow in grief and see things in monochrome (now) and the one obsessed about positivity and optimism, and I concur, it helps to go against the grain of our patterns in the moment. It’s an act of faith, and also exercise, that makes us feel lighter, better, less self-reliant and more than ourselves. Thank you for sharing how to plant potatoes, too!
Jeff, your writing is so compelling because you are so generous in gently inviting each one of us to learn alongside you. Thank you for your challenging and healing words in this letter.
Thank you for your letter. As a fellow wallower in sorrow and grief, I appreciate your encouragement. I also love my tiny garden. Your frequent wisdom gained and shared from the garden is lovely.
Just before I read this, I was thinking - people - give it 48 hours of paying attention to the sacrifice of the Cross! But your writing - pause, or watch for a sliver of hope, depending on your need - is very much the wiser. Thank you
I so love the reminder for us to make room for the things that don't come naturally. I haven't engaged in Lent or Holy Week anywhere near as much as I wuold have liked to, so tonight and tomorrow I hope to eek out a little time to remember Jesus' death. But then I will take to heart the challenge to look for the hope. That doesn't always come naturally to me, but I know that it is there if I am willing to see.
I just want to thank you for sharing. Your writing is honest, deeply felt, and inspiring. I am among the many that identify as "spiritual but not religious." The people close to me that identify as "Christian," express so many points of view that lack compassion, tolerance, and positivity. Your work represents a really outstanding model of what I seek in spiritual thinking and gracious living. Thank you so much!
Thank you so much for sharing this message and for the encouragement to look beyond what is right in front of us. That perspective shift was much needed for me today as I am feeling deep sorrow. I am thankful for you!
I look forward to your emails each week. I always seem to find words that lovingly tend to a wound or worry or agitation that I haven't been able to pinpoint. This week it was this:
"and we reckon with the reality that, stretching back into time immemorial, humans have behaved in ways that have fostered death. We have not honored the sacredness of the breath of life in one another and in all of God’s creatures. We have not loved well."
I'm a "recovering fix-it all and all by myself".
As I've learned to pause, I've found grief and currently learning how acceptance and justice can co-exist.
Thank you for your thoughts. Today I am planting ranunculus, they will have their own burial mounds… each in the hope and promise of flowers they will bring. And I will sit with that number 350,000… grateful that death and grief is not the end of the story.
I am 63 and this is the first time I think I felt the emotions of the day…the betrayal, the lies that were spoken, the sadness. I want to rush through them but am trying not to go there and allow myself this experience. Your message was perfect
Your message spoke to me on many levels. I'm ashamed to say my words and actions fostered the death of a marriage. I did not love well...then only 2 months after my divorce was final, my husband passed away suddenly. So many regrets and not enough time to make things right. The waves of grief overtake me at times-the loss of my love and the loss of time to make things right. Now I'm grieving the loss of my father's health and the person he once was...sickness of the body and mind have changed the person I once knew. I'm thankful for your message that we can hold both grief and hope at the same time...when you said "death will never be the end of the story of love", that gives me so much hope.
Hi Jeff,
Your writing was very helpful to me. I always have found Holy Week to be a sad series of days, but especially this year with all that’s going on in our world. Thanks for reminding me that our sadness is deep because our love is so great. Easter blessings to you. 🌷
“ If, like me, you’re more likely to wallow in the sadness, make room for just a sliver of hope.” - This was just what I needed to hear today - thank you Jeff
Thank you for sharing your thoughts . For those of us who struggle not having a "church home", today I long for the sharing,the community, the holy moments that come with music, scripture...dimming the lights,sitting in darkness together,leaving in silence. In my own meditations, and words from you,from Sarah,and others I find that community and am thankful.
I appreciate the wisdom here: “If you’re prone to rush to positivity, sit in the reality of grief. If, like me, you’re more likely to wallow in the sadness, make room for just a sliver of hope. If your inclination is toward insistent, almost pathological sunniness, perhaps you can invite yourself to contemplate the clouds. If your tendency is to see things in monochrome, maybe you can offer yourself the gift of recognizing that even a gloomy day contains a thousand shades of gray—an ever-changing dance of cloud and, somewhere out there, distant as it might seem, sun.” I’ve been both the one prone to wallow in grief and see things in monochrome (now) and the one obsessed about positivity and optimism, and I concur, it helps to go against the grain of our patterns in the moment. It’s an act of faith, and also exercise, that makes us feel lighter, better, less self-reliant and more than ourselves. Thank you for sharing how to plant potatoes, too!
Jeff, your writing is so compelling because you are so generous in gently inviting each one of us to learn alongside you. Thank you for your challenging and healing words in this letter.
Thank you for your letter. As a fellow wallower in sorrow and grief, I appreciate your encouragement. I also love my tiny garden. Your frequent wisdom gained and shared from the garden is lovely.
I love the words you use to describe grief. Thank you for this letter that situates both our hope and our sorrow exactly where we are right now.
Just before I read this, I was thinking - people - give it 48 hours of paying attention to the sacrifice of the Cross! But your writing - pause, or watch for a sliver of hope, depending on your need - is very much the wiser. Thank you
I so love the reminder for us to make room for the things that don't come naturally. I haven't engaged in Lent or Holy Week anywhere near as much as I wuold have liked to, so tonight and tomorrow I hope to eek out a little time to remember Jesus' death. But then I will take to heart the challenge to look for the hope. That doesn't always come naturally to me, but I know that it is there if I am willing to see.
I just want to thank you for sharing. Your writing is honest, deeply felt, and inspiring. I am among the many that identify as "spiritual but not religious." The people close to me that identify as "Christian," express so many points of view that lack compassion, tolerance, and positivity. Your work represents a really outstanding model of what I seek in spiritual thinking and gracious living. Thank you so much!
Thank you so much for sharing this message and for the encouragement to look beyond what is right in front of us. That perspective shift was much needed for me today as I am feeling deep sorrow. I am thankful for you!
Sitting with the thoughts you have share .... just sitting with whatever flows ... thank you ...
I look forward to your emails each week. I always seem to find words that lovingly tend to a wound or worry or agitation that I haven't been able to pinpoint. This week it was this:
"and we reckon with the reality that, stretching back into time immemorial, humans have behaved in ways that have fostered death. We have not honored the sacredness of the breath of life in one another and in all of God’s creatures. We have not loved well."
I'm a "recovering fix-it all and all by myself".
As I've learned to pause, I've found grief and currently learning how acceptance and justice can co-exist.
Thank you for your thoughts. Today I am planting ranunculus, they will have their own burial mounds… each in the hope and promise of flowers they will bring. And I will sit with that number 350,000… grateful that death and grief is not the end of the story.