I’ve been writing for a long time. Sometimes it’s easy to share my thoughts. Other times, they form easily in my head, but I struggle to get them out — to communicate them well.
Then there are those times when I honestly don’t know what to say. I feel that anything I have to contribute would be trite and make light of something that I really do take seriously. September 11 is always one of those days. Many years I’ve chosen to skip writing or posting on social media at all because I don’t know how to communicate anything relevant, and I fear that my “normal life” comments will be wrong somehow.
But even though I might not know what to say, I strongly remember the feelings. I remember the details. I remember the impact. I remember feeling odd because the events of that day and the days to follow impacted me strongly even though I didn’t personally know anyone who lost their life or lost a family member.
I remember. And I feel it.
And it dawned on me that maybe that’s what I have to say today. Maybe I have words of encouragement for others who keep silent on commemoration days. Or during hard situations. Or in the midst of heart-rending controversies. I see you. I understand. I get that you aren’t silent because you lack feelings or opinions. You’re not ignoring anything. Instead, you are bearing it silently because you do not want to diminish in any way. Or perhaps you are engaging more locally and personally, face to face with those around you. Maybe you are doing your best to invest in whatever way you can, but it’s just not as visible or eloquent or far-reaching as the investment of others.
That’s okay. It’s good even. We need it all. We need those who can be publicly eloquent, moving us and reminding us to never forget. We need those who shine a bold and bright light on evils that would prefer to grow in darkness. We need those who know what to say.
But we also need those who know when their silence is better. Who know when a hug for a neighbor is better than a post on social media. When a close action comes more naturally than a public statement.
My one request is this: whatever our form of expression, may it be real. Whether we do so in public protest or in quiet work, may we never cease to fight against injustice. May we lift up the crushed and oppressed, offer genuine and valid comfort for those in agony, and always put our actions behind our words, whether they are declared publicly or spoken softly.
May it always be real.
Not Quite Ordinary 