in print
52
Lament
Stories about sorrow, grief, and a god who weeps with us
Stories about sorrow, grief, and a god who weeps with us
The Importance of Sadness

TO THIS DAY, I can't quite say what it is that brought me out of depression a few years ago.

Our Stories of Suffering
Rejecting the Silence of the Model Minority to Make Space for Lament

A FEW YEARS ago, a friend was working on a documentary on the immigrant story. He asked if he could tell parts of my childhood story of growing up in an inner-city neighborhood in Baltimore.

A Black Man's Lament, A Church's Reply

SOMETHING IN ME broke when I heard about Eric Garner. As I watched the cell phone footage of police officer Eric Pantaleo choking the life out of him, it was like I was watching a summary of America's relationship with Black people.

When Bad News Becomes Deafening

I GREW UP in a Korean household where the news was always on in the background. It would play in Korean, so I distinctly remember not understanding what was happening.

Grieving Alone Together

MY BROTHER DIDN'T REALIZE Mom had died until her funeral. The relatives still say that it was better for him not to experience that final moment when she died of Stage IV pancreatic cancer. Who knows if they were right.

The Dark Voice

I CAN STILL vividly recall the night I knelt by the side of my bed begging God that I didn't want to be gay anymore. Tears were pouring down my face as I struggled to get my words out past the choking sobs.

Embracing Sadness to Find Joy

I WAS 15 years old when I began a relationship with a man 10 years my senior. He was the youth leader at my church.

Seeking Help

Awake, O Sleeper

I GRADUATED high school with over 30 unexcused absences from classes — each red mark an indictment on a day that I physically couldn't bring myself to get out of bed.

TO THIS DAY, I can't quite say what it is that brought me out of depression a few years ago. 

I had come home with shingles after a whirlwind of a year living abroad, leaving behind responsibilities and relationships I had invested so much in.

I remember constantly lying in bed, in pain and insignificant. I remember thinking how unlovable I was, with no way to prove or show my worth otherwise. I remember crying out to God for some sign to the contrary. 

No reply. No divine revelation or warming happiness that miraculously flooded my body to confirm that elusive truth that yes, I was loved by God no matter what. 

I had heard of stories before, of people being found by God at their worst and how their lives turned around afterwards once they felt the power of His unconditional love.

Not so for me. 

Instead, I remember my face buried in white and yellow flowers, hugging them in a vase for dear life, a tangible sign that my friends still loved me. I remember lots of boba and green milk tea as I tried to nurse myself back to life. All of which was my attempt to say to myself, "Stop being sad. Be happy instead." Rather than abiding in my sadness to see how God might meet me, I fled from it by focusing on the more positive moments so that I could move on, anxious to function again.

Rather than abiding in my sadness to see how God might meet me, I fled from it by focusing on the more positive moments so that I could move on, anxious to function again.

Since then, my main priority has been to put that dark place as far behind me as possible and never return again. Even as I try to think back, my mind convulsively retreats in self-preservation, tripping over denial and panic, waving a "Not beyond this point!" sign along the way.

In my hurry to get past my sadness, had I missed out on something truly life-changing? By not investigating how I was interacting with my sadness while I was in it, had I lost a unique opportunity — to persist in sticking around, even if it hurt, to see what else God had to say?

Sadness is an innate part of human experience, one that even Jesus Himself did not escape. Yet, our knee jerk reaction is to want to avoid it at all costs, trying to jump to joy or hope too quickly. It's inconvenient, nebulous, and can be life-saving in one form or self-destructive in another. But in function, it is a valuable feeling, a physical and emotional sign that something is not all right, and a first acknowledging step toward wholeness.

It is a valuable feeling, a physical and emotional sign that something is not all right, and a first acknowledging step toward wholeness.

Stay a while. Uncomfortably linger with us in sadness, in all its many nuances. Maybe in the din of pain and suffering, you will hear something you needed to hear — something beautiful, worthy, and human.

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