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Sometimes I turn to lament.  I write them not when the pain is raw, but when reflecting later on, to look at pain in the face.  Or when I am thinking about the pain I see in others.

Lament is important.  Putting pain into words, or creating the words that help others face their pain, is the work of lament.  When we push pain away, it comes back fighting. The monsters become less terrifying when we can stare into their yellow eyes and growl at them (as in Where the Wild Things are).

I wrote this one a few years ago. 

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When everything has been taken away,

I yield to you, O Lord.

When my health is threatened and I fear the worst,

I yield to you, O Lord.

When the people I love go early into death,

I yield to you, O Lord.

When all that I hold precious turns out to be nothing more than cheap baubles,

I yield to you, O Lord.

When I am stripped of all meaning, love and joy,

I yield to you, O Lord.

 

In the emptiness,

Only you.

In the darkness,

Only you.

In the wilderness,

Only you.

In the depth of my heart,

Only you.

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