what will you do with your tragedy?
Last night was a house concert in Edmonton—a perfect party of beautiful people and attentive listeners. The room was so comfortable that it was easy to sink into the music and be in the right space to deliver a great performance.
Now I’ve got a few days in Edmonton before the next series of concerts in Calgary. And I remembered that he lives here after all, and I should give him a call. Before I left Saskatoon, I was so consumed with moving and business and the business of moving that I didn’t get a chance to let some friends know I’d be in town. But on the other side of that business, it seems silly that I didn’t have time to call. Where is the humanity in that balance?
As I think about calling him, I remember a story he told us when he visited Saskatoon last. Is this true or am I remembering it wrong? His brother was killed when he was very young. A boating accident—is that right? Over the course of the conversation, he revealed how the events of his life have been touched by this tragedy. I remember how profound and beautiful that conversation was—so personal and trusting and intimate. But the details elude me now. It was an isolated incident that returns to me now.
What did you do with your tragedy?
Everyone has one, and I want to know what you did with yours. It was a birth or death or love affair or accident or disease. It was a war. It challenged your humanity and exposed your weaknesses. If you survived the moment to know that you could survive other moments like it, you became beautiful with a new wisdom. Does it show? I’m not sure. Still I want to know—what did you do with your tragedy?
A couple lost their daughter a few years ago. She was at the lake with friends, dove off the boat, and never surfaced. There was no body to mourn over. There was no autopsy to examine. God took everything this time.
What did those parents do with their tragedy?
They dug a well. They went to the Africa, to the town of a foster child their family had sponsored for years. They went to this child’s town and with money they raised themselves, they dug a well for the town. They filled the well with their tears and gave the gift of water to a town.
What is your gift? How will you transform your tragedy?
I only ask because I’m still deciding what to do with mine.
Now I’ve got a few days in Edmonton before the next series of concerts in Calgary. And I remembered that he lives here after all, and I should give him a call. Before I left Saskatoon, I was so consumed with moving and business and the business of moving that I didn’t get a chance to let some friends know I’d be in town. But on the other side of that business, it seems silly that I didn’t have time to call. Where is the humanity in that balance?
As I think about calling him, I remember a story he told us when he visited Saskatoon last. Is this true or am I remembering it wrong? His brother was killed when he was very young. A boating accident—is that right? Over the course of the conversation, he revealed how the events of his life have been touched by this tragedy. I remember how profound and beautiful that conversation was—so personal and trusting and intimate. But the details elude me now. It was an isolated incident that returns to me now.
What did you do with your tragedy?
Everyone has one, and I want to know what you did with yours. It was a birth or death or love affair or accident or disease. It was a war. It challenged your humanity and exposed your weaknesses. If you survived the moment to know that you could survive other moments like it, you became beautiful with a new wisdom. Does it show? I’m not sure. Still I want to know—what did you do with your tragedy?
A couple lost their daughter a few years ago. She was at the lake with friends, dove off the boat, and never surfaced. There was no body to mourn over. There was no autopsy to examine. God took everything this time.
What did those parents do with their tragedy?
They dug a well. They went to the Africa, to the town of a foster child their family had sponsored for years. They went to this child’s town and with money they raised themselves, they dug a well for the town. They filled the well with their tears and gave the gift of water to a town.
What is your gift? How will you transform your tragedy?
I only ask because I’m still deciding what to do with mine.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home