Through Stained Glass: Thursday Thoughts on a Friday Afternoon

               It’s late on a Thursday night.

               Western winds roll through Logan County. The Oak and Maple canopies around my house are chatty tonight. The rain is cool, not cold, and when it hits the parched ground, it gives the air a rich, velvety, deeply damp smell of dark loam, clay, and decaying roots. The only flowers still blooming, besides the Mums on my front porch, are the Marigolds. They are vibrant orange and yellow. Oh, and of course, the Morning Glories. Between the rain showers, I saw a Bumblebee crawl into a Flower's cone, drinking deep, tasting, and seeing the goodness of the Creator. The breeze chills my arms, so I put on my Uncle’s Harley flannel. The material is heavy and soft, cozy, like a hug from your favorite person. Or I imagine how it felt when the prodigal returned home to the father.

               The weekend weather reports a noticeable temperature change, especially at night. The winds will grow stronger as the day lengthens tomorrow. If they haven’t already, you'll hear Canada Geese first, then see them flying overhead, following ancient migratory patterns, coming and going. Such is life.

               So much change is happening outside. Trees are changing from Summer’s green to Autumn’s red, gold, and muted hues. Landscapes once thick with Corn are now barren, letting the Earth do what She does. The juvenile Cardinals that visit my yard at sundown, singing a song I like to think is a thanksgiving for refilling the feeder with black sunflower seeds, are growing into their adult plumage. My wind chimes are silent, still entangled in the decaying Sunflower, picked clean by the Sparrows. Entangled, just as we are with God.

As I write this, news about a school shooting comes across my notifications. My joy in the moment is disrupted by the bitter taste of rage and the first fruits of grief.

               Oh, God, Life-giver, Companion to those whose harvest is abundant; Oh, God, attentive Lover of those who grieve and feel empty like the fields—draw near to us all. Comfort our siblings in Oregon after another elementary school shooting. Surround them in their suffering with your healing mercy. Strengthen them in their sorrow to name their grief, express their anger, and hear their prayers—and ours—of lament as we endure yet another senseless act of violence. “Loving God, as we hear the news, see the faces, and listen to the stories of fear, loss, and disconsolation, we pray for your Comfort and your peace. May your Spirit once again move in the midst of this community devastated by this tragedy. May your grace embrace every family, school employee, first responder, and especially the children from this school.” May your Spirit guide us as we seek to free our children from fear that hinders their ability to grow and thrive. Fill us with a new imagination; may we learn from the Trees and let go of the ideologies that stand in the way of your kin-dom being embodied here on earth, as it is in heaven.

It’s late on a Thursday, and I find myself holding two truths at once.

I look forward to Saturday’s Halloween party—a chance to gather in laughter, play, and joy.

At the same time, I grieve the little lives lost—the children who will never have the chance to wear their costumes. Everything is not fine. We weep. We wail.

And still, we go on. I will do my part to live within this paradox: to make room for grief without surrendering the possibility of joy, and to hold sorrow and hope together.