I’ve been trying to avoid looking at the news.

It’s not that I don’t think staying current on the news is important, and certainly not that I feel events in the larger world are dissociated from my own life and concerns (in common with many women and men out there, I’ve been feeling as though current events in politics are directly related to painful and shameful parts of my personal history, events I would rather not be invited to relive). But in the last couple of weeks I’ve felt the particular need to be conscious of the conditions and scope of my personal engagement with the news media, i.e., that there might be healthier approaches to staying up-to-date than combing through Twitter and the New York Times op-eds for hours at a time while I sit alone at my dining room table, crying and wanting to punch things.

If only I had more discipline.

Late last night, in an effort to distract myself from my own feelings of rage and helplessness, I reached for a book on my shelf: one from my extensive collection of yet-unread volumes I couldn’t resist buying from used book stores. It was a copy of Anne Lamott’s Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. I opened to the first page, summoning a silent prayer to Saint Anne Lamott that she would speak words of comfort and hilarious wisdom into this moment of exhausted despair. And, wouldn’t you know it, the first chapter was about her grappling with how to respond to her own rage and helplessness at the middle of the last Bush administration. I resonated with her anger and restlessness, and her inkling that “five minutes of CNN” might be the solution (6). The chapter didn’t offer me any reassurances or fixes, but it spoke to me. And it made me feel better. It turned out that the message most relevant to my current needs wasn’t in the latest refresh of my Twitter feed (maybe if I had refreshed just one more time), but in a book written fifteen years ago.

It’s humbling and reassuring to be reminded that much of the wisdom I need for this day has already been generated by those who came before me. I don’t need to reinvent the wheel (which isn’t to say that contextual updates aren’t appropriate; I can’t put the Flinstones’ petrified tires on my 2012 Honda Civic). But a lot of very brilliant people have faced struggles very similar to what I’m going through, so maybe I don’t have to be so hard on myself if I can’t quite put my finger on the solution to all the world’s problems.

In seminary, I had a professor who, when a student would share a personal view or opinion, would ask, “What do you find about that in the Bible?” The question was slightly annoying but in fact quite helpful, kind of like a personal trainer directing me to move the peg up fifteen more pounds on the weight machine. It was not meant to limit, but to expand our resources for approaching challenging questions. It was not too unlike the challenge repeatedly posed to me by one of my supervisors in CPE: “Where does your faith tradition deal with this topic?” You are not alone. Reach out and take the hand of the other flawed and faithful servants of Truth, and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

When it comes to feelings of rage and helplessness, my faith tradition gives me the Christian concept of Grace. It offers me the reassurance that God knows what it’s like, because Jesus experienced those feelings, too. It reminds me that the victory of the oppressors and the same old wealthy, privileged, powerful men definitely hurts, but it is by no means a sign of God’s favor, because God is always with those who hurt. And perhaps, if I can get still and silent enough, I will get back to the notion that my hurting heart is being held by a hurting God, and I will find the strength to keep holding and standing with others who hurt. And we’ll all find a little grace for each other.