I cried today

I cried today. In public. No one got hurt; as the kids would say, no harm, no foul.

Afterward, I did not even shirk from embarrassment; I just forgave myself, forged on and let the moment pass. Inspiration from a sermon I heard yesterday by the Rev. Rick Dake at Clarkston United Methodist Church http://vimeo.com/channels/cumc instigated the courage to do what I needed to do to get back on that horse and move forward.

Forgiveness serves as Lenten theme at the Clarkston church and you know it was a good morning of worship when the sermon follows you throughout the next day. We assembled in the sanctuary yesterday and noticed communion elements at the chancel. Curiously, surrounding the communion set up, were various sizes of rocks. I noticed rocks on the floor, and a great big rock – the kind you cannot pick up – right next to the pulpit. My interest piqued.

After the reading, the minister began speaking of the hurts and brokenness in our lives. Well, I have a purse-full of that, so I sat up and listened. I believe he began with road rage and driving annoyances. He picked up a small rock, then spoke about the person in a staff meeting who knows how to push people’s buttons; he picked up another small rock. Throughout our days, we carry many stones that need to be dropped. To forgive others and ourselves is like dropping a burden from our hands, while carrying it affects our walk.

Now, I really sat up and listened. He continued to describe in eloquent detail some of the heavier and more complex hurts that infect the human race: failed relationships, unfairness in the workplace, social injustice. He picked up the larger, more cumbersome rocks – the ones that cannot be hidden away in the hands. It showed in an obvious way when he carried these burdens across the chancel. As the rocks he held became too difficult, he pulled out a backpack to house them, and then carried the backpack.

Finally, the minister stood in front of a large boulder next to the pulpit– who knows how that arrived in the sanctuary. The large boulder represented that which blocks our way and we cannot move ourselves. The solidness of this rock drove home to the congregation when he pulled out a hammer to attempt breaking it down. He could not.

His point in the sermon was that forgiving others frees us to walk lighter and carry fewer burdens. He spoke of a grudge held is as poison drunk. The person for whom the grudge is held feels far less effects.

This morning, I rode a stationary bike in spinning class. Class hummed along on an imaginary hill when a song began that pulled up raw emotions within me. The bile of grief oozed up and I feared humiliation among strangers. For months, I have avoided leaving my house for fear of unexpected moments to drill up painful memories or activate my frayed nerves. Finally, I am out among people and beginning to re-assimilate – I did not want to feel embarrassed.

I quietly left the room to regroup and allow the song to expire. I sat on the floor against a wall and tried to hold my face in my hands unnoticeably. A man walked over and asked if I needed help. I told him I would be OK, but I lost a child recently and just need to be away from a song on the play list. Mysteriously, the man said he knew because he has lost a child also. He gave me a quick, sweaty side hug and disappeared back to the weight machines.

Small miracles give us the strength to proceed and let the rocks slide from our hands.