I haven’t picked a word of the year for a long time, but this year, I am very aware that a word has picked me.
It’s a hard word to wear. I know that usually, when people pick their words, the words are happy. They’re cheerful and positive and inspiring.
But this word picked me.
It’s a stone I’ve carried in my pocket. It has been there for so long, wrapped in layers of gentle protection, not coming into contact with my body at all, until the day I was emptying my pockets for others to see and the wrapping fell off that stone and when I put it back in my pocket, its jagged edges tore into my flesh. I shifted it to the other pocket but the same thing happened over there.
I could have retraced my steps and found some new protective wrapping. But that felt wrong, like ignoring the problem, so I kept shifting that stone back and forth between my pockets. My skin got tougher. I got used to the way it felt. I ran my fingers over the stone every day, rubbing those edges and feeling their texture and grit under my fingertips.
One day I realized: that stone wasn’t so sharp anymore. My fingers have worn its edges down. It’s not yet smooth, but it’s getting there. One day it will be whittled down and down and down and down until it is gone and I am standing in the presence of Jesus.
But for now, I carry it in my pocket. this stone, this word, this grief.
I name it. I own it. And I refuse to fear it. I know it will go away. I know it will change, that its shape will shift countless times over the years of my life, and that it will be smaller, and some days it will feel heavier, but it will get easier to carry the more I share it and talk about it.
Let’s wear down those stones together, my friends. Let’s rid ourselves of the piercing pain of grief ignored.