The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears.

Every sorrow is really the "Shade of His Hand outstretched caressingly."

Blessed be those that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Nobody said when.

I didn't want to identify the body, or see it at all. If you don't see the body, it's easier to believe nobody's dead.

Blessed be those that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Nobody said when.

I agree with you that Gilead ought to fade away-there is too much wrong in it, too much that is false, and too much that is surely contrary to what God intended-but you must permit me some space to mourn the good that will be lost.

Part of the life she should have had is just a gap, it isn't there, it's nothing.

that we live in a paradise compared to the Jews who aren't in hiding.

But what if the great secret insider-trading truth is that you don't ever get over the biggest losses in your life? Is that good news, bad news, or both? . . . . The pain does grow less acute, but the insidious palace lie that we will get over crushing losses means that our emotional GPS can never find true north, as it is based on maps that no longer mention the most important places we have been to. Pretending that things are nicely boxed up and put away robs us of great riches.

Grief ends up giving you the two best things: softness and illumination.

So I pray for people who are hurting, that they be filled with air and light. Air and light heal; they somehow get into those dark, musty places, like spiritual antibiotics. We don't have to figure out how this all works—"Figure it out" is not a good slogan. It's enough to know it does.

Then it came to me: I was asking the wrong question. The right one is: Where is God in gang warfare? And the answer is, The same place God is in Darfur, and in our alcoholism, and when children are bullied: being crucified.