Yesterday I lost my head for a bit after I read a story in the paper about a man who’d lived through some horrible things. This stuff is all around but sometimes things hit me so viscerally. In this story the man’s parents had taken him to the middle of nowhere when he was a child and then told him they were leaving him there, that they didn’t want him anymore. There were other horrible parts in his story but that one really broke me. I dropped what I was doing and I wrote him a long letter about how he doesn't know me but I wish I could go back in time and take him out of that horrible situation, that he was lied to, that he is incredibly precious and loveable. There are big tears (dried now) all over the paper. I just signed it “s.” After work I walked to the shelter where he was staying and went through a series elevators and all this to find this man, and as it turned out I couldn't just hand over the letter at the desk. So I went to the volunteer desk, then to the social worker liaison desk but wasn't getting anywhere so I’ll have to mail it. I hope it gets to him. To deal with the gut-wrenching stuff I read online I sometimes write down their first name and save all the names up and then once a week go to a cathedral and cry about it and ask for some kind of healing and restoration. I was begging for that today for the church we left and their relationship with the music guy they fired. When I read about that man who was abandoned by his parents I was reminded of our church and the music leader. He and his family had been part of this church for thirteen or so years and it was their family and social hub, and now they’re emotionally and economically bereft in this economy because of the church’s decision and they could lose their house. I still can’t believe that this happened. It’s the second most tragic thing that’s happened to me. It hurts my chest to ever look them and their kids in the eye because I can see their hurt. I’m drawing on the bitty seed, the dust mite, of faith I’ve got left that there will be something beautiful from this that we’ll see eventually, but for the past nine months it’s been a festering pile of rotting Marmite. I don’t think you can have insane beauty without insane tragedy so I’m trying to remind myself of that and I’m trying to embrace my grief every day and let myself feel it but sometimes it really feels so deep that it could sweep me away.