Singing the Blues

Last week was a sad one.  One of my childhood friends lost her father, and I attended his funeral in Wisconsin on Saturday. Other friends got the heartbreaking news that they will not be able to adopt the baby girl they have been waiting and planning for; the birth mother changed her mind.  Will's grandma continues to have her ups and downs, settling back into her home, after being hospitalized and recovering in a nursing home last month.

Back at the beginning of the week, on Sunday, I led a small group discussion at church.  Somehow, in spite of the commotion going on around us in the fellowship hall, I got the feeling we were in a sacred space.  We looked ahead in the lectionary to the following Sunday, and read from the book of Ruth, along with the story known as The Widow's Mite, in Mark's gospel.  Where are the widows, the poor, the outcasts in our church?  I asked. That morning, they were inside us.  As we went around the circle, nearly everyone had some grief or anxiety to share, and I know there were more that went unspoken.  Usually, everyone at my church seems so happy and confident, so pulled together, but not that day; last Sunday we were fragile.

When I showed up for my guitar lesson this Monday, my instructor asked how I was, and I gave her an honest answer.  I'm drained, and sad.  She said, okay, tonight you are going to learn the blues.

Trouble in mind, I'm blue

But I won't be blue always

The sun's gonna shine through my back door some day

Playing the blues, singing the blues - it really does make a girl feel better.