“Mendelt, I hope you are having a good day and you aren’t sad”.

This was a message I received from someone.

I know what they meant.

But is sad so bad?  I walked down the grocery store and saw something that triggered a Marisa memory.  Then I was sad.  Deeply sad.  I felt like weeping.  In the juice aisle. 

Hey cashier, don’t you know Marisa is dead? 

I walked outside.  I remembered Marisa.

Hey stranger, don’t you know that cancer sucked her body of life?

I went home.  I saw my neighbours talking.  I remembered Marisa.

Hey neighbour, do you know that we put her in a box and buried her in the ground?

I felt like putting on sackcloth and ashes, weeping and gnashing my teeth. 

So why don’t I?

I remembered images of people in other countries.  They walk down main street hand in hand, crying, weeping, singing, chanting.  Are they honouring their grief?

It is clear that I am looking for something that this world will not provide.

Hey Jesus, why does your return seem to take so

excruciatingly long?