It’s been a tough week, personally and nationally. Restlessness was my constant companion as I fought to stay centered while the news of Boston and Texas emerged. In the midst of tragedy and loss, there is only one thing I do really well and that is to weep loudly over injustice. Saddest of all was a feeling of familiarity that accompanied the experience. We’ve been here before, too many times. Entering into the lives of people I don’t even know by sharing their grief from afar has made me wail more than a few times. Like a prayer without any words, my lamentations for the innocent and for the inner brokenness that would cause someone to inflict violence are sometimes the only way I can deal with such inexplicable horror. Times like these pull me outside, to natural places that bring equilibrium back. So I walked again beside the sea where my tears mingled with the saltwater that played a symphony over rocks and sand beneath my feet. Only then did hope slowly return, like springs of life-giving water, to my soul.