The Case for Writing Our Grief

Aug 8

Last month, I told you I’d be taking part in the Wild Goose Festival including offering a lament wall for people to post their stories. The wonderful people who collaborated to create the wall I envisioned used old pallets, bits of vintage wood, and a working door, since grief is a threshold—a story with a before and an after. When I arrived, one of the makers and I added screws at various heights so people could tie their stories to the wall.

It felt sacred to walk past it throughout the festival and witness people standing, pens in hand, writing their grief. It was moving to see the pages accumulate as the weekend progressed, fluttering in the wind. And it was a holy moment to prayerfully remove each one at the close of the festival.

I spent an afternoon reading every story shared when I got home. I read of parents weeping for estranged children, others mourning parental rejection, mothers grieving miscarriages, and children and spouses remembering lost loves, often with promises to carry on the best parts of them in their own lives. One father wrote of his deep regret at the kind of parent he’d been to his children. He took responsibility for the pride and inflexibility that drove them away. Others mourned systemic harm to people and the created world. I am convinced that every one of their laments matters to the Divine.

And that writing them down was meaningful and even healing. UT social psychologist James Pennebaker has been studying the impact of writing grief and worry since he discovered how helpful it was to him when he was struggling. After over forty years of study, he “found that the people who wrote about their troubles were markedly calmer and happier” than those who only wrote happy or trivial thoughts.

What’s more, he’s shown in study after study that the benefits are long-lasting. “Even months later, they were physically healthier, with lower blood pressure and fewer doctor’s visits. They had better relationships and more success at work” (quotes from Susan Cain’s Bittersweet which I talk more about in what I’m listening to below).

Two weeks after the first stories were posted on that North Carolina wall, I burned them with rosemary (for remembering), mint (for love), and copal (for honoring the dead and for purity) as the holy offerings they were, asking for the God who promises to be near the brokenhearted to send each of them a sense of goodness or grace as I did. In a last-minute impulse, I added three blank pages to the flames to honor the stories that weren’t shared—those that might feel beyond words.

That Sunday, a day which also happened to mark a loss anniversary of mine, I buried the ashes under an oak tree on the banks of the Colorado River. As I packed the dirt and topped the mound with wildflowers, I was startled by geese honking on the other side of the trees. I peered through cypress branches to see a gaggle of fifteen or so, the largest I’d seen together on Lady Bird Lake, chatting to one another about something.

It felt fitting that their voices joined me that stormy afternoon since the Holy Spirit is sometimes painted as a goose. The New Testament often portrayed the Spirit as a dove or a flame. And so did the early church. But they, and particularly the Celts, also favored picturing the Spirit as a wild goose. Seminary presidents Greg Henson and David William explain, “While this may seem silly or out of place or even irreverent to some, we think it accurately describes the courageous, untamed nature of the Spirit. It is not something that can be controlled.”

I am grateful for the experience of offering a fresh way to invite people into the hard and holy work of lament. If you’d like to share about a love and loss of your own, I’ve created a digital lament wall. Find out more and add your story here.

I did all this because particular geographies get connected with loss. When a natural disaster, accident, or mass shooting takes place, makeshift memorials are often created as people leave flowers, stuffed animals, and notes along a gate, sidewalk, or tree trunk. Read more about why that is here.

Oh, and one more thing: the lamentation wall is one part of a set of tools and practices for metabolizing grief to accompany Hopeful Lament that I created with my talented friend, Rebekah Manley. (Central Texas storytellers, find out more about her latest workshop on crafting stories for picture books here.) You can explore the Apothecary for Lament here. I’ll be highlighting various pieces of the apothecary in the coming months.

Don’t hesitate to share the apothecary with a friend who might need it. And if you would like some spiritual accompaniment for the grief in your life, please reach out! You don’t have to stay in those hard places alone!

with care,
terra

Coming Up

I’m looking forward to joining the Eremos community for a workshop exploring lament as a missing piece for many. Central Texas friends, I hope to see you there!

I’m excited to join Lacy Borgo and our community of teachers (including the joyful return of Kaisa Stenberg-Lee!) for the final two cohorts of Spiritual Accompaniment with Children through our friends at the Companioning Center.

I’m also going to be speaking on creating hospitality for lament with children and families at the Church Mental Health Summit alongside Aundi Kolber, Caroline Leaf, Makoto Fujimura, and Latasha Morrison in October. The event is sponsored by Spiritual First Aid and Hope Made Strong and will happen on World Mental Health Day. Find out more and register to participate here.

What I’m reading

The Surface of Water by my IVP friend Cynthia Beach is a novel for #churchtoo that manages to be an unsparing look at the power, wealth, and prestige of megachurches, the perils from and to celebrity pastors, and the reality of sexual abuse and misconduct in the church. I didn’t expect to be invested in anyone but the woman who is trying to find out who her father is and the mom who did all she could to protect her after she hadn’t been protected herself. But I am rooting for everyone including the foster mother and her big-hearted tribe, the disgraced executive pastor, the foreign seminary student turned janitor turned seminary student, Trish herself (of course), and even the pampered (and stuck) megachurch pastor himself. I will finish it this week and await the sequel which is already in the works!

Hannah Coulter is my first Wendell Berry novel, and I am loving it so far. It is a story of a woman looking back on the story of her good, if sometimes, hard life. Her story is told simply and with an eye toward celebrating the kindness and wisdom of those she encountered, beginning with her beloved Grandmam and a spare and honest view of those who failed to wish her well that resists caricature or melodrama. It reminds me of the feeling I’d have when I got to spend time with my mamaw and her sisters Opal and Katie and Pauline and Wanda and brother Paul. It’s not an old-fashioned feeling exactly, although it is that to an extent. Moreso, it is a feeling of being around people who are simple and good and love you that give a sense of hope for the future.

What I’m Watching

I finished the Sweet Tooth series I mentioned last month and highly recommend this quirky cautiously optimistic post-apocalyptic tale. It is about friendship and compassion in how we treat fellow humans, creatures, and the earth. It’s about the courage to stand up for the defenseless and how it’s never too late for redemption. It had, as I noted last month a fabulous narrator (stay for the final episode to meet him) and a few love-to-hate villains including the fabulous Rosalind Chao who was also great in 3 Body Problem. I remember Chao fondly from M*A*S*H and was shocked to see she was only in two episodes as her character felt so significant to the story in my memory.

What I’m Listening To

I’m listening to the audiobook for Susan Cain’s Bittersweet which is all about the holistic wisdom of healthy, honest melancholy. It’s interesting and very well researched with a good balance of personal stories (her own and others’) and how pain has become fuel for goodness for musicians, artists, philosophers, researchers, and entrepreneurs. And I love that it all started for her with her fascination with Leonard Cohen.

Spotify just reminded me how much I love Alexi Murdock and I think his vibe is perfect for late summer.