August 27, 2014

 A few months after Bill’s death from cancer in 2010, one of my ministers in her sermon told the story about a young man who was severely injured in a motorcycle accident and who lost his leg. He was very bitter and angry. During art therapy, he drew pictures full of darkness. One day he drew a picture of a large vase with a jagged crack down the center. But in time, he grew less angry, and he began to reach out to others who had suffered similar accidents. During one of his visits to the hospital, he stopped to say hello to the art therapist who handed him the folder of his drawings. He opened it and thumbed through the drawings, then stopped and drew out the drawing of the broken vase. “This one is not finished,” he said, and picked up a yellow crayon and began to fill in the crack with yellow. “There,” he said, “that’s where the light shines in.” 

My eyes filled with tears as my minister ended the story. Perhaps in time the light would shine through the terrible hole in my heart. I did not see how.

But four years later, I think it has. I like to think I have always been a compassionate person, but I believe I have become more attuned to others’ grief. One of my young friends gets angry when told that suffering makes us more compassionate. We do not have to suffer to be compassionate, but unless we roll into a ball of grief and never uncurl, in time our grief and loss softens our hearts. We better understand the pain that others carry, and we realize that everyone we meet is carrying a great burden of some kind.  

I just finished reading a Washington Post article about Anna Whiston-Donaldson, who has written a memoir Rare Bird about the loss of her 12-year old son in a flooded creek. “Perhaps, she says, her story will offer help and hope to those in mourning, and soften the hearts of those who cross their paths.”

 May all of our hearts be softened and may we reach out to those in need.