I'm still reeling from the events of yesterday -- again, what we end up dealing with over the long term is a sense of personal invasion. I'd like to thank the officer who was looking over our house, when I apologized for touching things and closing drawers, he looked me square in the eye and, with an unbelievably even tone, said, "It's O-K." As though the word was this huge, smooth round rock I was thrown upon, gasping, from a turbulent sea. "I'm just going to take some fingerprints and the most that would happen is we'll have some to compare with. It won't be a problem."
Also, it's incredibly disconcerting to see a bag unzipped that I know I just closed yesterday; to remember some funny photo or video clip on my computer I might never be able to watch again; to remember a place I stashed something in the rush of leaving St. Croix Falls that might have also been disturbed, or something taken. It's like you can't forget, because you keep remembering. I had just, literally the day before, decided to settle in to the room I was given, even though I didn't love it, and it is upsetting that it was my careful order which was disturbed instead of the suitcase-living I'd been doing up 'til then.
But throughout my phone conversation with Ann, who was exhausted from her own emotional day, I realized that I can't take it personally. Bad things happen, life isn't easy, we all share the burden of our collective human pain in some capacity, at some point in our lives. It's not just me. All these wild things that have happened in Delaware since I arrived have also impacted at least 4 other people -- it's not some personal karma or the sins of my great-great-grandfather coming to rest alone on my shoulders. I slept well last night, after a really comforting conversation with my parents. Remembering all the traumatic events my parents experienced right after they graduated college, living in the tiny town of Baeza, Ecuador -- gunshots at night, the sounds of neighbors fighting, military raids, and mountain lion invasions, to name a few. We talked about how easy it is to focus on the bad things, the worst-case scenarios, because those make newspaper headlines, those are the horror stories we tell from inside mummy bags or in the everyday moments when we realize: life can be excruciatingly painful. But there are good headlines too, and pleasant editorials, and love stories that last. There are beautiful moments when, amidst agony, we feel a soft, strong hand reaching for ours in the dark and we know that there are two (or more) sets of tears flowing in rhythm, and suddenly the imperfect world bears some flicker of redemption.
Yes, I still feel that gut-wrenching no-ground-beneath-my-feetness moment here or there, and you might be at least a little bit right if you're thinking my clear-headed and compassionate response to this Unfortunate Event is a cover, that I'm trying to convince myself as much as yourself. (Read Liz Lampman's post about "doing so well" for another take.) There is a slight disconnect between my gut reaction, my emotional responses, and my mental-intellectual processing of this event. But ultimately this is how I locate my homeostasis, that tightrope amidst the haywire.
***
On Sunday my dad gave a sermon about forgiveness. "How often must we forgive?" the disciples asked, and Jesus said, "Not seven times, but seventy times seven." So Papa handed out half-sheets of paper with the single word, in large text: Forgive.
There were five Forgive reminders in the house yesterday -- one within a foot of almost every item that was taken.
Also, it's incredibly disconcerting to see a bag unzipped that I know I just closed yesterday; to remember some funny photo or video clip on my computer I might never be able to watch again; to remember a place I stashed something in the rush of leaving St. Croix Falls that might have also been disturbed, or something taken. It's like you can't forget, because you keep remembering. I had just, literally the day before, decided to settle in to the room I was given, even though I didn't love it, and it is upsetting that it was my careful order which was disturbed instead of the suitcase-living I'd been doing up 'til then.
But throughout my phone conversation with Ann, who was exhausted from her own emotional day, I realized that I can't take it personally. Bad things happen, life isn't easy, we all share the burden of our collective human pain in some capacity, at some point in our lives. It's not just me. All these wild things that have happened in Delaware since I arrived have also impacted at least 4 other people -- it's not some personal karma or the sins of my great-great-grandfather coming to rest alone on my shoulders. I slept well last night, after a really comforting conversation with my parents. Remembering all the traumatic events my parents experienced right after they graduated college, living in the tiny town of Baeza, Ecuador -- gunshots at night, the sounds of neighbors fighting, military raids, and mountain lion invasions, to name a few. We talked about how easy it is to focus on the bad things, the worst-case scenarios, because those make newspaper headlines, those are the horror stories we tell from inside mummy bags or in the everyday moments when we realize: life can be excruciatingly painful. But there are good headlines too, and pleasant editorials, and love stories that last. There are beautiful moments when, amidst agony, we feel a soft, strong hand reaching for ours in the dark and we know that there are two (or more) sets of tears flowing in rhythm, and suddenly the imperfect world bears some flicker of redemption.
Yes, I still feel that gut-wrenching no-ground-beneath-my-feetness moment here or there, and you might be at least a little bit right if you're thinking my clear-headed and compassionate response to this Unfortunate Event is a cover, that I'm trying to convince myself as much as yourself. (Read Liz Lampman's post about "doing so well" for another take.) There is a slight disconnect between my gut reaction, my emotional responses, and my mental-intellectual processing of this event. But ultimately this is how I locate my homeostasis, that tightrope amidst the haywire.
***
On Sunday my dad gave a sermon about forgiveness. "How often must we forgive?" the disciples asked, and Jesus said, "Not seven times, but seventy times seven." So Papa handed out half-sheets of paper with the single word, in large text: Forgive.
There were five Forgive reminders in the house yesterday -- one within a foot of almost every item that was taken.
you know me. i've been known to say, "i, basically, do not believe in coincidence." i suppose another way to put this is: everything happens for a reason. i'd like to modify that trite statement, however. everything may happen for a reason, but that does not make everything that happens reasonable.
ReplyDeletetearfully grateful that the your family was physically untouched by this event, and consumingly prayerful that your sense of personal safety will be re-built and re-fortified... somehow.
with love.