Most of our worlds are remiss from moments that shake or shatter the core of our being.  Most of the time we are protected and sealed off from painful heart ache spurred by tragedy.  We see it on the news, read it in  magazines or books of how it has happened to other people, but we never want to believe it could happen to us?

No. Instead we float.  Like Bubbles.  Our life  seems to glisten and shine floating individually, to the pattern and rhythm of our own beautiful micro-world.  Our safe space. The place where where we imagine nothing can happen to us, as long as we are floating.

Bubbles.

As I washed my dishes Friday afternoon, on my 31st birthday, having just returned from a week away to Virgina for my precious cousins funeral, I found myself pondering those vanishing bubbles in my sink.  Also, mulling over my afternoon spent making phone calls and getting quotes for “grown up stuff” a.k.a. life insurance, better vehicle coverage, medical insurance, etc.  I made a round of calls pursuing things I have avoided and never really gave a second thought to…until now.  Because life, for me, has seemed to exist as a series of moments, floating from one dance to the next.

Just like those bubbles disappearing in my sink, my perfectly pleasant bubble instantly burst on June 12th when I received news that my 33 year old cousin – a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, and a mother to two little children had tragically died in a climbing accident.  No one wants to believe it will ever happen to them or to their family.

I am guilty as charged for portraying the grotesque role of false empathy.  A pat on the back, a hug, a simple “I’m so sorry,” or “Ohhh, that’s tough.”  A card, an email, maybe even a prayer or two.  But secretly in my shiny bubble world, moving away as quickly as possible as to not interfere or collide into a world of pain or sorrow. Because it’s not my world and it’s not my problem, my heart is sadly relieved that it’s not me wearing their shoes.  And only moments later moving along and floating once again.

For years, I have boycotted the news.  I avoid hearing the tragic stories. My ignorance has been my bliss.  It’s been my safe place.  But I have now awakened to a realization during this season that as a Christian, that ignorance is not truely bliss.  It’s simply one of the nasty offspring’s of fear….denial.   My ignorance is unintentionally denial.  Living in fear, is not from the Lord, neither is living in denial.  I’m realizing this now, and principles from the Word are leaping from my heart as reminders of how I can move forward:

My confidence in this confession only comes from recent conversations of friends who share the bubble life with me.  We say it doesn’t matter that we don’t call each other during life’s trials and celebrations, because we “know” we love each  other.  Every year when I flip over the December calendar, I renew an age old promise that ‘this’ will be the year that I celebrate my friends and loved ones special days…but the calendar rolls on, and I continue to float.

Moving beyond this tragedy, time has been an epic enemy.  It’s like the further time moves beyond the moment of our loss, the more our life exists without our beloved. However, this challenge of passing time has given me a newness for living life beyond the floating bubble.  I’m learning to richly soak in each hug, to notice every tear and to embrace even the smallest of treasures, for they are fleeting and priceless.