Tension, the space between

I use the Notes app on my phone to hold onto passing thoughts. Maybe I’m journaling…that would be remarkably wise of me. Anyway, between grocery lists, podcast quotes, and birthday party brainstorming, I also have notes like this, waiting to be rediscovered on days like today (by that I mean a Wednesday, parked at the library, working from my car using public WIFI. Regular days).

from January 28, 2022:

Today is the first anniversary of my granddad dying. We’re currently living in the space between my grandmother’s death and her funeral services. We found out this week that a friend—who is beyond hyperbole—died. A dear buddy is in ICU fighting back from a stroke. A vulnerable loved one has Covid. More than once over the last few days, I’ve had a hard time catching my breath.

And this is just us. The whole world is groaning.

AND. It’s Anthony’s birthday. Our baby brother, the boy who embodies hope and light and potential for exponential good. He’s fifteen. Some of us have known him since he was four and a half, and some have known him since he was a sweet nugget in their mom’s belly. He’s fifteen. Like all of my family members, but especially the five youngest, he reminds me that pain is inextricably bound with hope, and of promises that have been, and will be, kept.

Grief and joy are caught up in incredible tension. The whole world is groaning.

Be brave. Here’s one way.

This photo is of a 90’s grunge cover band, Nevermind. To see them perform is to be brave and to be free. They’re a grungy joy. Get curious.