On Joy & Grief | Perkins Fellow, Lanie Moore, ‘25
“Joy keeps my heart light, but grief keeps my heart soft. ”
This semester, I am volunteering once again at the Haven, a low-barrier day shelter for unhoused individuals near the Downtown Mall.
Like most of the buildings around the Mall, the Haven has history. Located in a centuries-old church building, the day shelter sits beneath a soaring sanctuary, with stained glass windows that pour technicolor light onto pews lined with boxes of supplies for the guests downstairs. First Christian Church used to fill that room every Sunday, lifting their voices in worship to El Roi, the God who sees; Jehovah Rafa, the God who heals; Jehovah Jireh, the God who provides. Two hundred years later, that same God is just as present in the shelter below as He was in the sanctuary above.
In my last blog post, I talked about the grief I experience each week when I drive home from the Haven. I am haunted by the raw brokenness of humanity, laid bare in a church basement. I lament, and lament, and I know that my Father grieves alongside me. El Roi sees the suffering of His children, burdened by mental, physical, and economic illnesses far too heavy for them to carry alone. Because God didn’t design our bodies to handle the weight of constant grief, I also embrace joy. I can breathe deeply and be at peace knowing that God gives us strength to hold our grief and our joy together, side-by-side.
Likewise, my joy is not superior to my grief. Joy is not a final destination to be reached after embarking on a journey to overcome grief. These two states of being are equally valuable and equally necessary as we embrace peacemaking in the Now and Not Yet. Joy keeps my heart light, but grief keeps my heart soft. Every time, I will choose a heart softened by grief, lament, and prayer rather than a heart hardened by fear, avoidance, and lack of exposure.
So, I keep showing up. I keep answering calls at the front desk, folding towels in the back, cracking jokes with the shift managers. I embrace the heartbreak and despair when brokenness breaks the skin. I know that God is exercising my heart, keeping it from atrophy, or worse, rigor mortis.
Expose me, O Lord, and soften my heart. Pour into me as light from the stained glass windows upstairs. Amen.