“Despair is what happens when grief doesn’t have somewhere to go.”

These words were used in an Atlantic article, quoating an indiginous elder in Minnesota. It strikes true for this current moment in our country and the outbursts we’ve seen erupt. But it rings true in my heart, too. There is despair I feel sometimes…a quiet kind, the kind that looks and feels like hopelessness…and it surprises me. I judge it: what do I have to feel despair about? That doesn’t accord with my theology, seems outs of place with my particular circumstances, and doesn’t even feel like a fruit of chemical imbalance or other clinical state. And yet, I do feel it—that sense of despair at times. An impulse to hit an “exit game” button. But when I read that quote, something in me immediately welled up. I think the despair I feel is likely downstream of grief. Including griefs I haven’t really named or grappled with. I think the fact that they’re not named—or that I so quickly judge them as not worthy of naming or grappling with—is why they bubble up in despair.

To bear grief must start with identifying it AS grief. Lord, show me?