I’m going to take a shot at writing this column from where I’m actually at, rather than where I’d like to be.

Christian writers should be able to do this–show life as it really is, warts and all–because the Bible is chock full of such candor. Check out many of the Psalms, most of Job, all of Ecclesiastes. I can take the cue: There is a time for mourning. For me, that time is now.

I’m writing this on a Sunday night, and I’m watching the television news for more information on a shooting that happened this morning at the church I used to attend. Many of my closest friends work for this church, and some of them are there tonight in lockdown as the police investigate a crime that left three dead, including the shooter and his victims–two teenage sisters.

The same shooter did more damage earlier this morning an hour away, at a Youth With A Mission complex, leaving two dead and more wounded.

A few hundred miles to the northeast, several families and communities in Omaha, Nebraska, are mourning eight lives lost last week when another shooter entered a mall and opened fire before taking his own life.

That’s one category for lamentations–the shock of Random Acts of Violence.

Here’s another category: Family Crises. A couple hours ago my grandmother passed away, with my mother at her bedside. In between phone calls from my mother, I returned calls from my sister, who has been caring for my ailing father. [Dodd's father died shortly after this column was written.--Ed.]

One more category: Personal Drama.

My family has been sick for the last two weeks. I had the flu, then my 4-year-old daughter had strep throat; then my 1-year-old son had pink eye; then my wife got the flu. I’ve missed work, and am forever behind (thank God for automatic bill payments). I feel like–a word that is not suitable for this magazine.

So there. Ahem. Feeling uplifted yet? No?

Well, then, turn in your Bible–to the book of Lamentations.

That book, and the other biblical examples I mentioned above, are exercises in focusing on the Now–describing, with feeling, the precise circumstance you are in. It is not a bad thing to do. In fact, it’s a good and necessary thing to do, and anyone who has told you otherwise, whether a preacher or a best-selling psychologist, is a charlatan.

For many years, I believed it was foolish and faithless to acknowledge all that is wrong with my life. I believed I was a new creation, and admitting anything less was not acceptable. I missed seeing a lot that was wrong with my community, my family, and myself because I thought the Christian thing to do was to emphasize the positive, glory be to God.

But Jesus came for the sick, not the healthy–by which he surely meant that he came for those who know they are sick, and not those who, being sick, nonetheless claim they are healthy.

Since I took up the habit of lamenting, my life has not improved, at least not directly. But life improvement isn’t the goal. The goal is faithfulness and servanthood–becoming like the image of God in Christ. I’ve come to believe meeting that goal involves severe honesty, self-awareness, and nakedness. There is power in honesty, because it removes any hint of deception, and puts us before our God as we really are.

So try it. Lament. Mourn what’s broken in your life. And–here’s what my next column will be about–have hope that God will put it back together again.