When only people remain

I enjoy traveling. I’m not, however, itching to go most places that other recent grads long to go: London, Paris, Rome, or Vienna. I want to go somewhere that’s less developed, not showy, perhaps more rural. I want to live alongside the marginalized. I want to experience both the joys and the difficulties of living a simple life. I love simpler places because there are fewer distractions from seeing the beauty of people for who they are and their culture.

When all of the glamour of life is stripped away, what’s left is people. It’s people who are most important to me. I’ve heard that (as a generalization) more impoverished areas of the world value relationships more highly than in consumeristic countries. That’s how our priorities should be. Don’t get me wrong: sightseeing and travel are wonderful and good! But let’s not allow them to eclipse the beautiful people who inhabit those areas.

I realized this about myself when I was just a kid struggling with mental illness. In my depression I concluded that life was meaningless if not for relationships. If I was going to live at all, it would be for relationships–for God my Redeemer, for my family, for friends.

It takes going through something uncomfortable for us to re-evaluate our priorities. In tension with loved ones, having major illnesses, or experiencing tragedy we have the opportunity to look at our values with a fresh perspective. The incomprehensible international tragedies in the last week give us pause. What is most important to me? WHO is important to me? What do I live for? Comfort? Possessions? Family? Security? Faith? Success?

I’m firmly convinced that it is relationships that are most important. So how do I filter my every day decisions through that filter? How do I arrange my schedule to reflect my values?

Pray for those who are hurting around the world while you hold your loved ones close. Tell them how much they mean to you and enjoy their presence.

Moving right through the thick of tragedy

It’s been a couple of weeks since I heard the tragic news.

My dad called me, his voice shaking. His best friend had called him and told “the worst possible news.” My friend Madison, his son, had died.

Madison. Died.

What?!?

My dad relayed vague details, and shared the situation’s increasing complexity: Suicide. Madison took his own life.

Shock, grief, numbness, terror, denial, sorrow. What a confusing few weeks it has been with emotions fluctuating from suffocating to starkly absent. I went home to be with my parents and siblings as they sorted through their grief.

My dad had took on all of the details and responsibilities for Madison’s dad, his best friend, and allowed the rest of their family to spend focused time together in grief until the memorial service.

There are pages and pages I could write about the last several weeks as it relates to the tragedy, but I will try to keep this brief. One of the most striking moments for me was in talking with Madison’s dad.

“Someone asked me how on earth I deal with a tragedy like this. And I said, ‘You have to move right through the thick of it.‘”

When Tragedy presumes its horrifying face at your door and shoves its way in your life, you are forced to make choices: Will you invite others into your pain? Will you suppress the deepest, most painful questions? Will you hide? Will you allow yourself to feel emotion or become numb?

These decisions  have to be made on a moment-by-moment basis. What I admire about Madison’s family is that they allowed others into their pain, allowed friends to grieve with them. They didn’t hide their fears, but expressed them appropriately. They allowed their community to mourn with them, to express love’s final mark: grief*.

My dear, dear friends responded with maturity in their sorrow, facing the situation head on. Let’s press on to maturity, friends. It requires courage, so let’s support one another in our weaknesses. For we. Are not. Alone.

Madison, we miss you dearly. You are loved beyond expression. But we grieve with hope that we will see you again.

*I borrow this thought from my insightful mentor