Grubbiness

"My understanding of incarnation is that we are not served by getting away from the grubbiness of suffering. Sometimes we feel that we are barely pulling ourselves forward through a tight tunnel on badly scraped-up elbows. But we do come out the other side, exhausted and changed." - A. Lamott

I talked with a student yesterday about suicide. I felt ashamed that I had nothing to say. I felt for the first time that my sense of compassion was scraping desperately at the walls of my inner gut, begging for more power, more wisdom, more understanding, more love. Desperate prayers raced through my head. And I'm not convinced my faith was enough to send them through the roof. 

There's so much grubbiness. More than enough to go around. We talked about conflicts in my classroom worship yesterday morning with the juniors. I had made a comment about how conflict can be good. Then a student asked if I wanted more conflict cause she could share. I was quick to assure her that I had enough of my own right now. I can't seem to get that conversation out of myind. How quick was I to refuse to help someone in their grubbiness because of my own? 

At the same time it has never been quite so clear to me as it is now that I have a very hard time refusing to take on more and more and more, instead of preserving time for what or who I love. It's the end and beginning of semesters, new classes, grades, late nights at school, hurting students, aching hearts, and job cuts in the near future. There's not been a moment to sit still, a moment to empty and refill, nor a chance to run. These are incredibly important things. How can we feed ourselves if we don't stop for food. Surely we can't starve forever, because death will soon track us down. 

Perhaps the end of the tunnel is near and we will come out exhausted and changed.