Dear Friend: a full summer of joy & sorrow mingled
Holding space for the weight of goodness, broken dreams and a collect prayer to companion your grief.
Dear Friend,
This summer has been full, and I’m guessing that might be true for you too. So many of those things that have contributed to our fullness have been truly wonderful gifts.
To kick off summer, I flew across the country and got to have a glorious weekend with one of my oldest friends which turned into the sweetest art/journaling/rest retreat together.
We found out we get to welcome a girl to our family this fall and have had the funniest, best conversations about what her name could be. (And thank you to each and every one of you who celebrated this news in my last Dear Friend letter. Each response was such a gift to me.)
My family was gifted a week at the Outer Banks and it was so refreshing to be able to rest there, surrounded by reminders of the utter grace of such a gift.
Daily swimming lessons have brought rhythm and skills to our summer.
I got to (finally!) meet and hug the dear woman who has pastored my heart through Zoom and podcasts over the last three years. What a gift this was.
We were able to visit the West Coast and celebrate my dad’s retirement with lots of family.
We’ve celebrated birthdays and our ten-year anniversary.
We’ve spent some sweet hours with friends, around fires and cakes and water.
I’ve soaked up the joy of a local production of Sense and Sensibility with some of my dear book club, the Paper Ladies.
We’ve gone to a few movies (including these $2 movies that are still happening), all gotten haircuts and read so many books.
We’ve eaten so much delicious fruit and ice cream, burgers and sandwiches. It has already been a summer full of good things.
But another, quieter part of the summer has been the grief of broken dreams. Some of these have belonged to those I love: a difficult diagnosis of diabetes, anxiety & panic attacks, spiritual abuse, family dysfunction, transition, painful good-byes, longings unfulfilled.
Some of these have belonged to my heart including the weight of poor air quality in the midst of our last days of school, some of my own anxiety around the future, a diagnosis of dyshidrotic eczema on my hands, the challenges of pregnancy, the ache of not belonging to a local church in this season of transition and relational pain. There are griefs that I’m either still in the midst of or am still processing too.
I wonder if you might be holding a broken dream or two this summer.
When books are touching a tender place in my heart, I tend to move incredibly slowly through them. It feels like my normally fast-paced reading speed jumps to the other extreme, slowing to a crawl and allowing me space to be fully present with the words and what they mean for my heart. Alicia Britt Chole’s July release, The Night Is Normal has been one of those for me. Here’s some of her words that I’ve been holding onto these days:
"When dreams shatter, we too need to give ourselves time to gently collect the broken pieces and wrap them respectfully in tears. This is not about prematurely abandoning hope. This is about accepting reality. Denying Jesus' death would not return Him to the disciples. It was healthy for them to permit a burial. Faith is not threatened by funerals."
- Alicia Britt Chole, The Night is Normal
How grateful I am every time I am invited to bear witness to someone’s faith not being threatened by funerals, in whatever form it may take. The past few weeks, I've been so grateful to bear witness to the suffering and shattered dreams of KJ Ramsey as she’s shared on Instagram. She's someone I've been so glad to learn from over the past few years. Her words in books and posts and podcasts, and online presence have created a safe space for my soul. Her recent vulnerable sharing online was once again a gift, as she fought for her life from a hospital bed, and is still in the midst of scary medical unknowns. (And she’s still in the midst of this and making herself incredibly vulnerable yet again, by asking for help.)
While my specifics might be different than KJ's and different from yours, I have a feeling you’re familiar with the disequilibrium that comes from suffering. I know I’m paying attention to some of the signs:
the desire to understand why, the heartache that comes from things not being as they should be, and the grief when it rises to the surface.
How deeply I appreciate these words from KJ’s Embodied Substack, Just Keep Telling the Story from July 3:
"We don’t have to understand a story for it to be beautiful.
We can experience small deaths with great courage, never facing the shame of defeat, because we are already bound to a Love who honors every wound."
Back in the spring, I sat with John 9 and found it to be a great companion for my heart when I or others are suffering. It is the story of the man who has been blind from birth, and how Jesus healed him. What has struck me wasn’t merely the healing, but how others responded to his suffering: the blame, the fear behind the questions, the disequilibrium.
It feels sweet to share this collect prayer with you now, as this practice was taught to me by KJ and feels like a tiny ripple of the gifts I’ve received from her presence. I hope it is a gift to your heart in the midst of suffering too.
Light of the world,
Compassionate One,
Questions of blame always
seem to accompany the
suffering.
Did they sin?
What did they do wrong?
How can I separate myself
from their pain?
Who can I blame?
You gently shake your head.
This is no one’s fault.
And those questions miss
the mark.
This one is precious to you,
deeply loved,
uniquely suited to reveal
light in dark places.
May we bless our aches,
our pain and limits.
These cracks are not proof
of our unworthiness.
These cracks are where
the light shines through, and
You are the abundant
light giver.
Amen.
Dear Friend, I’m praying for your own heart, that if there is suffering in your life or a broken dream that you’re grieving that you would be gentle to yourself here, the way the Lord is gentle to you. May you have eyes to see the light coming through the cracks of this painful place.
As always, I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. I read and savor every email that comes my way, even if I don’t always have the space to respond. Whether you want to share a bit of what this summer has held for you, or if my words brought up anything for your heart, I’d be so glad to know.
Warmly,
Alison
Thank you for your Friend Letter. It is very meaningful for me today as I navigate the death of my dear, much loved and appreciated, Spiritual Director, Sr. Anne. She died late yesterday of pancreatic cancer. I will miss her, yet I know she is still with me in spirit and in all the many ways she has blessed me in the 8+ yrs we journeyed together. I am at a loss today as I prepare to attend visiting hours tomorrow. Thank you for your companioning with me.
Such a beautiful collect prayer Alison. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. ❤️