I remember clearly a counselling session I had with H. P. It must have been in the very beginning of my pastoral internship so my mom was either dying or dead. I remember telling H. that I was not cut out for pastoral work, that I was not strong enough and my own life was a smoking pile of rubble. H. asked, "Well, would you want to go to a church where the pastor had a perfect life? Where (s)he didn't know what pain and grief felt like? Where (s)he couldn't emotionally relate to others' sorrows?" No, of course not, I replied. Then H. just looked at me and let me figure things out for myself.
This conversation has come back to me a couple of times over the last month or two. In several situations I have sensed a clear link between what others go through and what I have gone or go through.
Just last weekend we said goodbye to a church member whose godliness and gentle spirit touched many lives. I had my own story with her. The story actually started the first day I ever set my foot on Ekebyholm campus - on June 10, 2021 - when she was the first person to greet me and give me the keys to my room. We developed a really nice, close bond as there was something very similar between her and my mom. The wisdom. The gentleness. The undying faith. And then visiting her in the hospital over the past months and seeing her body slowly lose the battle to an evil disease let the memories come flooding back. The links were so obvious although, thank God, the light of resurrection shone much stronger this time. We will see again soon, very soon.
Yesterday I visited an elderly lady who buried her 18-year-old grandchild last week. We sat in her living room, drank tea, and talked about lives that are cut short too early. Of course, I don't know how she feels, I don't know how unnatural it must be to say goodbye to someone who should live much longer than you. But I do know what it is like to live in parallel realities and imagine a life that should have been but never was. My first baby should have been born last week...
The going is rough right now. The extraordinarily high sensitivity that I have and that can be a blessing in some situations is a very heavy burden to bear these days. The feeling of not being enough, of not doing enough, of not being able to fix broken things or heal hurting people. The helplessness. Somewhere in the back of my head I have a constant conversation with God, begging him to let me go and do something else, something easier.
But we survive.
"We are hard pressed on all sides, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body." - Saint Paul
