By Rev. Abby Lamb,
The fires that barreled through California’s brittle land during the summer of 2020 caused the skies to blanket us in grey and orange, toxic smoke for days. Humans, animals, plant ecosystems, homes, and livelihoods were snuffed to a noxious ash that our systems were ill-equipped to handle. And by “systems” I mean many things—bodies, psyches, institutions of politics, health, civics, and more—none of which have evolved to filter the healthy fertilizer of ash from the toxic chemicals floating in our airspace.
It felt as though the concurrent COVID-19 pandemic had morphed and multiplied into something more visible, and more dystopian. Like so many, anxiety smothered my chest like a disease—a virus, if you will—contracted from the air that I was trying hard not to breathe. Remarkably, and here’s the heartening part—this is where I discovered the perfectly designed filtering mechanism within: grief.
Yes, that’s the hopeful part. Life is full of cataclysmic events, but we can utilize grief as an internal filter that holds the dual cuts of anxiety and fear in their rightful place—on the sidelines of our decision-making. We can then act from a loving, compassionate place that serves the world so crucially.
My own transformative grief developed out of a realistic, warranted sadness. And I am grateful for that. In exploring this sadness, I stretched my awareness away from a solitary fear toward a collective sorrow. And while the losses were still palpable, the grief, as carried collectively, was the healthy fire that melted to ash the hardness of my conviction that the world was ending, and painfully so. Yes, things fall apart and burn down, but the ash that remains can be a potent fertilizer for re-growth if we approach it together, as a caring and dedicated community.
All of the spiritual leaders that I respect believe that the heat of grief is ultimately nourishing for our spirits. I agree. In knitting sadness and hope, grief teaches us to love more authentically and mourn without bitterness, creating a world where we are protected by more discerning air purifiers—ones that welcome resilience and connection, while repelling despair.
Abby Lamb was ordained by the Chaplaincy Institute of Maine (ChIME) in 2021, where she learned how to practice greater patience, compassion, and authenticity to her calling to be a more present, empathic human being. She cares deeply about bearing witness to all of life’s mysterious complexities. She writes non-fiction stories that speak to the quirky, sometimes funny, sometimes sad, almost-always-poignant events that give meaning to her days and ways. In addition to writing, her interests include photography, collage, end-of-life companionship, and holder of therapeutic space. She is also a sometimes-adept urban and mountain hiker, just don’t ask her how to use a compass. Getting merrily lost just might be her greatest prowess. Her website is Tender Roots at www.tenderlyrooted.wordpress.com
