“Did you go on Twitter today? Did you hear the news?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t.”

My husband gives me the headlines like Cliff’s Notes. He knows my sensitive heart and doesn’t want me to be caught off guard told the news by a coworker or stranger at Publix. We want to know the headlines, know the details, and be informed. This social media world that we’ve built is rather noisy. And during these turbulent times, sometimes my husband and I rather be the first ‘reporter’ to share news with each other.

My heart aches. And it hurts to watch the news, hurts to listen to the headlines, hurts to see the viral videos. Toddler killed. Woman raped. Kidnapping attempt. Nightclub shooting. Man strangled. Man shot. Man shot. Man shot.

As I read and watch, I don’t know how to let this sit alongside my everyday. As of writing this, my kids are 3 and 1. The innocence next to deep pain is hard for me to internally balance. I feel caught between.

I learned about being caught between when I was eight. There was funeral for my great-grandmother. At the reception following the funeral, I remember sitting at the kids table with my cousins. One of my cousins didn’t want her brother to eat her french fries so she bit them in half and put them back in her plate. It worked. I remember looking around the room and seeing adults laugh and eat and talk. I found the juxtaposition between crying in a funeral home and laughing at the lunch reception striking. I watched my relatives cry hard and laugh hard in the same day. That feeling has never left me.

And I sit here in this tension, in this caught between, my heart is heavy these days.

My everyday at home is a world of infant and toddler. There’s almost constant joy and celebration. Naivety and curiosity. Sure, there are meltdowns and tantrums, but mostly there are pillow forts, seashell necklaces, dress up, and jumping on the bed.

Recent news cycles have been heavy and raw, full of hurt, pain, brokenness, sin, danger, and violence. How does that world interact with the other? How can that live next to lollipops and dance recitals, first steps and first teeth? It doesn’t seem fair. These days I’m learning that God isn’t surprised that we feel caught between.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 is the time for everything verse. You’ve heard it before. (Or at least the 1950s song Turn! Turn! Turn! by Pete Seeger.) Ecclesiastes 3 paints a picture of life’s seasons. A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance. It’s about life’s extremes. It’s about the caught between. It’s like when (likely) Solomon wrote this inspiring piece of poetry, that God wasn’t surprised that we were going to feel this tension, this caught between.

When I first read this in the Bible as a young adult, I saw the seasons as linear and chronological. (Okay, I’m in a season of sorrow. Now, I’m in a season of victory.) And as we look into the past of our lives, I believe some of us may be able to see clear overarching storyline and themes. But that’s not typically our everyday. Extremes happen. And that’s okay.

These days, God is reminding me that joy can sit next to pain, and happy next to heartbreak.

This is a time to mourn. Mourn for our brothers and sisters who have been shot, raped, and traumatized. We know their names, their faces, and a slice of their stories. Let us pause and reflect on the pain of our country. Let us be more sensitive, more loving, and more hopeful.

This is a time to think well. Dr. Martin Luther King has said, “Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think.” Now is a time to engage in our culture, not shy away. Let us be mindful, aware, and engaged. Let us think sharply.

This is a time to bring joy. Let’s not forget to laugh, to dance, and to sing.

Let us use our everyday moments of joy be how we find God among heartbreak and pain. Let’s bring hope during this caught between.