In the Mundane

Feeling a bit melancholy today.  Not sad, just a little aimless I think.  Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep – my 2-1/2 year old son, Smith, was throwing up last night with some sort of a stomach bug.  He woke up today happy as the morning; his father, however, did not.  It might be the weather – one of those gray mornings that hangs a little bit heavy for whatever reason.  It’s strange because most of the time I love cold, gray days, odd as it sounds.  But today is not one of those days.  Or maybe it’s just the end of a really busy week that was also pretty thick with emotion over the events in Haiti and equally ripe with purpose in trying to figure out what it means to love well in times of crisis.  I know this is sadly selfish, but I felt very “necessary” this week, if that makes any sense.  Not because I felt like I could change the world but because I felt like I was a part of it.  I felt, in a very deep and visceral way, a certain sense of purpose.  I felt like I belonged to a body of believers that was actually living the cause of Christ out in the open, unashamed.  If one can be found at all, I think this can be the “blessing” of tragedy:  that we can, in a moment, identify with the pain of an entire people that most of us had given little thought to before, and that we even feel like we belong to that pain somehow.  That we feel like we belong to the ancient and shared mission of serving that pain with the cause of Christ.  That we feel like we belong to the long-told story of brokenness and redemption.  That we feel like we belong.  Period.  My prayer today is that God would not allow my melancholy to move into monotony, that I would not become motionless.  I am a part of this story.  We all are.  But this story of horror and tragedy and ultimately redemption in Haiti is only still just beginning to unfold.  And yet here, removed from it by only a flight on an airplane, we can already see signs of “moving on.”  It’s a little less reported today than yesterday, a little less thought about.  The work week has turned into the weekend, and on Monday we will start all over again.  We will inevitably slip back into the mundane of “normalcy” like moth to flame, and, I fear, forget that we are still a part of this story and that it is indeed still being told.

5 Responses

  • Doru wrote on January 16, 2010

    How beautiful, words and thoughts which can only be spoken by a true poet, a true man, a true Christian. We love you BEBO!!

  • Tweets that mention In the Mundane | Bebo Norman -- wrote on January 16, 2010

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  • Katy wrote on January 17, 2010

    It's like the tsunami victims, like those suffering from the earthquakes in Aceh and Padang, Indonesia. Most of the world has already moved on, yet they are still rebuilding their lives amidst desperate physical, emotional, and spiritual need. We are Christ's hands and feet. We can't forget them. Thank you for this post.

  • Amy wrote on January 17, 2010

    Very nicely written. :) I'm glad that the news isn't reporting all Haiti all-the-time (although I turned off the T.V. because I can't take the coverage anymore). I think there are a lot of people like me that care too much and imagine too deeply. A single image encourages a world of thought--and sometimes it's a rather haunting ordeal. Therefore, I need to detach, which allows me to focus on praying for all that is going on in Haiti--the people, the rescue works, first responders, orphans, and so on. But I love what you said--we're all part of the story (for good and for bad). We're all part of humanity's story. Great thoughts.

  • Monserrate Plocica wrote on March 20, 2010

    I have the problem too of getting to a blog and finding that I figure the conversation is already over hours ago. That’s the downside of putting the hour stamp on your comments by the way.

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