I so identify with this.
I mean, this could be a really bad snippet –
keeping quiet in situations when we need to be shouting from rooftops.
But in this ongoing pastoral journey that often makes me wish in spades that I had listened to my dad and tried the whole accounting thing after all (could crunching numbers possibly hurt more than witnessing crunched lives?)
I see things.
I see pain and elation, beauty and ugliness, despair and hope. And such suffering.
It’s probably at those times most,
each bedside of suffering.
I see so much.
And yet I sense that to say anything – especially to blog or post it out there – would defile it, would hijack the moment, would co-opt the pain as if it were my own.
The seven thunders of suffering speak, but the revelation must be sealed.
Oh yes, this happens a lot.
It’s a tricky business, this knowing the time to speak, to write,
and the time for tacenda.