Pool of Tears

Trevor Hudson writes, “Each of us sits next to a pool of tears. As you read my words you are sitting beside your pool; and as I write these words, I am seated next to mine. Our pools are different. Some are deeper; some are muddier. Some have been caused by what has been done to us; some are the result of our own doing. These pools remind us of the grief and losses that we have experienced through our lives.”

Seen by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity, A Sanctified Art

Hudson’s words are powerful and true.

We all sit by our own pool of tears.

We’re generally aware of our own pool, the hurt and the pain that we carry with us each day. But when we enter a room or a crowd, we aren’t always aware of the pool of tears by which others are sitting.

Sometimes it’s quite simple, we don’t know the pool because we don’t know the people. But sometimes we don’t know because we’ve never asked, or we’ve never slowed down enough to really listen to the pain another carries. And other times we don’t know because the person next to us is hurting in silence, hiding their pain.

There are many reasons why we, or anyone, might hide our pain. Maybe we believe it is shameful. Maybe we have been taught that certain afflictions are not for polite company. Maybe we learned the painful, practiced art of smiling through platitudes. Maybe our pain has been invalidated or ignored so many times that we begin to believe there is something disgraceful about our feelings or experiences. Maybe it feels easier to bury our emotions for fear of how they will be perceived.

The opening chapter of 1 Samuel introduces us to Hannah, a woman who suffered in silence for many years. Over the years, she was belittled, patronized, and provoked because of her struggle, likely all reasons she kept her pain hidden. Hannah’s particular struggle is infertility, a particular struggle that some within our church family might be all too familiar with. But others carry a different secret suffering, a different story; we all sit by our own pool of tears.

Eventually, rather than hiding her pain, Hannah chooses a different way. She speaks up and tells the truth of her pain.

I find myself wondering if we can be like Hannah and share our pain with a humble and dignified honesty that trusts there is no “right” or “proper” way to feel?

Would such honesty with our own hurts and disappointments allow us to be more present to others’ pain, as well?

Grace and peace,

Kimmy