Part of the club

Grey’s Anatomy a few weeks ago got me thinking about a journal entry I made a few years ago. When George’s dad died Christina came up to him and said he was part of the club. These are thoughts and ideas I have thought especially on 12-12-04.



I’m in a club; one that I never asked to be a part of, but one that covered me in an instance; a club that started with darkness and gloom. A club that once in you can never leave—there is no de-pinning. You don’t choose to be a part of this club and you can never leave. At first you despise the club and even pretend you are not a part, but then reality sets in and you realize the truth. There is some comfort found in knowing that you do not cry alone and there are others trapped in the circle of grief-just like you. I guess the key is deciding what your role in the club will be—will you sit in the corner with your back to everyone-or will you turn around and see the others that are hurting with you. Will you experience the beauty of a group of people mourning together? Will you choose to see the body of Christ through a group of individuals broken together? It is weird to say that it doesn’t hurt as much when others are hurting with you. When you first enter the club you consider it a curse, but as the years pass you realize you need this club, you need someone to cry with.

You see yesterday I saw the club at its best. It was the service of consolation at Calvary. I sat with Becky knowing that she would be experiencing pain in an unexplainable way. Of course I was hurting too, but the seventh Christmas is much different than the first. When it was time to go to the front we grasped each others’ hand. As we slowly walked down, her older, but I was the one with more experience in the situation. As we got to the front Becky started to weep-my mind raced back to the first time I had been at the service. Becky was now taking my place in the circle of life. We clutched each other tightly as we were prayed for. Suz walked up and embraced Becky. Becky still had a hold of my hand. She squeezed it as tight as she could. I didn’t mind for I understood the pains she was feeling at the core of her soul. She grasped my hand as if saying “Help me, you know this pain all too well.” I was in a situation which I was helpless. I could say or do nothing to help her pain. I normally am uncomfortable in a situation like this, but you see I wasn’t. I was content with my place. Why, because it was my place in that moment. I was to be the one who has gone before Becky. We walked back to our seats. As we sat down Becky just wept and I held her. Another friend rushed to hold her and pray for her. As I sat there looking at the scene, I was overwhelmed with the presence of God. How can a room of people totally broken and hurting show me God? It is because this is what God wants. For one of the first times I was in a church where people weren’t pretending to be something they weren’t. There were no masks, just honesty flowing through tears. A room filled with questions for God; a room needing the brokenness of each other to survive the moment. I saw the body of Christ—broken, suffering, full of pain—just as Christ had been. The exciting part is knowing the joy that will once again enter this body—not tomorrow and maybe not even next year, but one day. Through grief and brokenness I saw the face of God and it was such an amazing face. I pray that I never forget the scene of the body of Christ.