Again we continued our various projects today: painting, building, and installing. There has been a spectrum of feelings expressed by each of us as the week has progressed. Today has been an example of that. In part because of this, one of the most powerful lessons I'm learning on this trip is that it's okay to feel. I see my teammates breaking down into tears, showing anger, and expressing shame. Events like these are somewhat foreign to me. Seeing these moments of pain in others, though-- along with the healing that came through them-- shows me that there is real purpose in our feelings. This trip, in fact, has been as much about understanding ourselves as it has been about serving others through work and time with children. Many of us are seeing ourselves on a level we aren't willing to explore at home, and this in front of-- and perhaps because of-- each other. If I were to summarize this trip into one word, in fact, I would call this a trip of healing: we are healing each other as we help each other process our experiences and feelings; and we are healing ourselves as we allow our respective pasts to surface and as we face those pasts squarely. Listen to the prayers of our group members before we left and you will find a little more about our expectations for the trip: prayer to fulfill the roles we've been given, prayer for safety, and prayer for a willingness to serve. It is clear to me through them that we hardly expected a trip that would be as much about God's work in us as it would be about God's work through us. I suppose life can be so unpredictable, but God, it seems, can be more so. Here is a God who "works all things for the good of those who love him." These moments of vulnerability and feelings have been foreign, but they have also been deeply meaningful.
I read part of a poem recently by one of my favorite poets. It reads: I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage The linnet born within the cage That never knew the summer woods. I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time Unfetter'd by the sense of crime To whom a conscience never wakes. Nor what may call itself as bles't The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate'er befall I feel it, when I sorrow most 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. At base, Tennyson contrasted a life of risk, and consequent pain, with one of security. He sides conclusively with the life of risk, and says he fails to envy those who have faced no hardship. I agree with him; and, for good or ill, his words are just as relevant today as they were in the nineteenth century. Like then, there are those today who choose to live their lives with as little risk as...
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