I cry in the bathroom too

“I cry in the bathroom too.”

Three images crushed time for me this week.

ONE: Reading Pádraig Ó Tuama’s book In the Shelter. He writes about finding home in the world. One of his stories included peace-making efforts after the violent conflict in Northern Ireland.

TWO: A present day Ukrainian president grieving and leading, pleading with his people- the ones he called “my dears” to take shelter in subway tunnels for safety and some soup.

THREE: The foolishness of the Church Year. The approaching Good Friday, the one day Christendom allows in the Church Year for tears and a post-easter season that slumbers through summer until the rewind button is hit and we travel back in time, back on the same road to Jesus’ tomb instead of through our own.

Because of the agony and the urgency of TWO and the foolishness of THREE, I am learning to walk through the valley of death because that is where I am, and where we are. We have always been, a post-easter people. We have better things to do than hit the rewind button on the story of Jesus. We can find ways to live it at this moment in time.

Which brings me to ONE.

Ó Tuama writes about a post-war time in Ireland and some small efforts to gather people to tell stories, to name their dead, to remember streets with violence and bodies visible and all the death and grief still hidden. The storytelling program was an attempt to recover from the conflict – the little memories of heroes who provided shelter from the violence, a cup of tea, a bowl of soup. Many are still seething with anger and bitterness.  Many did not want to heal. He spoke of how these programs of storytelling could not often get the right people at the table. The storytelling sessions continued and the time came to be less about having the right people and more about learning how to listen.

Ó Tuama writes: “Sometimes, in a room, you can see it happen. Somebody begins to dare to believe that their story might be believed...There are many reasons to find a story difficult to believe. That shouldn’t stop us from trying. For some, it is life and death.  Once a person left the room. She ran for the bathroom, and I wondered if she’d come back. When she did, I wondered how best to shelter her in the room where she wouldn’t welcome the exposure of a question. One of the other participants said, “I cry in the bathroom too.” They shared an exchange of relief, belief, and truth that was moving to witness. All this peace work can hope for is found in that brief moment. In those generous words, we see people noticing people. We see people moving from their story to validate the experience of another story. We see how someone can use their own small tools of surviving a difficult day and help create a sense of shelter for someone whose day is crumbling…no one thinks that one small kindness is going to change a life. But it might change a moment, and in that moment something small can grow.”

So, my dear post-easter people, let’s walk together through this valley of death. Some of us cry in the bathroom. And return to our seats. We put Good Friday away for another year and Easter too. We can do better.  Let’s find a way to notice each other, to listen generously, to provide shelter with small gestures, to be honest and humble, to have the courage to live. I am still learning how to do that. Maybe you are too.

Peace,

Deb

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*Artwork is by Ann Sisel

Cards with my recent designs are now available at my Etsy shop Jazzwater.