Hazmat Suit for the Soul
When we feel our souls slipping into cynicism
Being human is weird.
We spin on a rock in space, around a burning ball of gas that gives us freckles and vitamin D.
Each day our lives intersect with countless others, each is complex as our own: iceberg tips interacting in the workplace and at traffic intersections.
There’s even a (new-ish) word for that: sonder.
We barely understand ourselves, let alone those around us.
Deep joy and dark pain both swirl in the cup of human experience. Gore and starvation exist in the same world in which we make breathless love and stand on mountaintops. Traffic, rude customers, disappointed dreams—they’re all papercuts that prove the world is broken. (This morning I’m convinced burnt coffee belongs on that list!)
If we care to empathize at all, if we choose to dig deep and untangle trauma (little t or big T), to reach out to others and let ourselves engage with the darkness, we tilt on a dangerous edge.
We juxtapose, dance with paradox, and smile (cry?) at the irony of it all.
If we’re people of faith, we choose to hold the belief that there’s a good and sovereign Creator and there’s eternity after death.
And if faith is a messy place for us, tainted by people who used religion for their own purposes, it’s even more difficult.
All this can sometimes leave us teetering, arms splayed wide, on what feels like a slackline. Strength comes with hardship, but the scars can push us toward a stoniness that makes us lose a precious part of ourselves.
How do we walk that line, making sure we don’t become Pollyanna or the Grinch? Let’s face it, extreme positivity and cynicism can both be toxic.
Does upbeat have to equal clueless?
Do we have to become numb skeptics?
The other day I was feeling overwhelmed, so I sat down to improv “Can’t Help Falling in Love” on our tinny piano. Usually, my boys continue their activities, unimpressed.
But today I glanced sideways to see my two sons holding hands, spinning in slow circles. Two sets of brown eyes sparkled, and they made eye contact with me, sharing the joy of the moment in a way only tiny children can. My five-year-old broke away from his brother and slipped his head under my arm as I played, stretching on his toes with eyes closed and lips puckered to plant a kiss on my lips.
It was one of those “you had to be there” moments, so achingly perfect that time stood still. A thin place, as the Celts would call it.
That day was a royal mess. There was dog hair all over the floor, cruddy dishes in the sink, and my headache didn’t disappear, but in that moment, beauty touched my life in a way I’ll never forget.
Hazmat suits might look corny and feel awkward, but they allow us to walk through toxic places without harm.
When my soul edges dangerously close to cynicism or righteous anger that has smoldered too long, I’ve learned that I need to put on my ~hazmat suit~.
Even if it’s hard to walk in at first.
Maybe your hazmat suit looks like turning up good music, taking a walk outside, or looking into a dear one’s eyes. Maybe it means that despite the deepest pain, you realize that our hearts are made for a God who became bruisable flesh to be near us. It might seem trite, but choosing to notice moments of safety, wonder, and beauty can keep our souls grounded.
Evil is a dissonant chord against the perfect pitch of good. We only see and experience evil as pain because we know and believe that there is good.
It can be scary to engage with ourselves and the people in our lives. Yet we know a God who left a throne in a city of gold and rainbows to learn how to walk,
lose his baby teeth,
sleep on the ground,
touch lepers
and eat bread with the shunned,
sweat drops of blood in a garden,
walk with us,
have his hands and feet nailed to wood grain he created
…murdered
by us and for us.
He could have locked Himself away in denial. Humans have worshipped pantheons of gods who did no less. Honestly, we’d have thought nothing of it if He’d stayed at a safe distance.
That’s probably what we’d do, given a chance.
But the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Rather counterintuitive.
Flesh. Soft, open to bruising, easy to wound.
“Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don't numb themselves to really living.” - Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
It takes immense courage to stay soft, as Charaira Rush writes.
To be human is to feel it all. But we don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt or let the hurt consume us. When we feel our souls slipping into cynicism, let’s choose to notice tiny moments of good. Therapist Aundi Kolber writes that paying compassionate attention through mindfulness is a “primary tool we can use to rewire how our brains and bodies function.”*
God dwelling with us is so simple, so ordinary. And he tells us to Look: at the birds, the flowers, the rain.
What’s one tiny way you can put on a hazmat suit today and look for one good thing? I think taking care of your soul might be one of the bravest things you’ll do today in this weird human life.
*Try Softer, by Aundi Kolber
Loved it! GREAT writing. 🙌🏽