The other day, I was talking to a friend about the events of this past year, and how they've impacted me. They'd had a rough go of it as well in the past 12 months.
Sometimes it takes saying things out loud to process what you know is true - what you feel in your bones. I was grateful for a chance to voice my thoughts.
"Joy looks different. Rest looks different," I found myself admitting.
When a person's life is devoid of difficulty, it's easier for the "little things" to seem like a big deal. We live for the fluff. We exchange surface level pleasantries with people we barely know (even though we've been around them for years). I've had many conversations with my husband about how it's hard for me to relate to people who always land on their feet.
Sure, everybody is supposedly going through something you know nothing about. That can be true. But I find myself around an increasing amount of people who seem quite daunted by even the smallest seeming difficulty I've faced. Once I casually mentioned to a friend that my daughter never sleeps more than two hours at a time at night. Lately she's been up every half hour to 45 minutes. My friend was horrified and said she'd pray for me. (If a new inconvenience for me was her worst nightmare - how could I talk to her about the parts of me that truly struggled?)
Our grief, our sufferings - they breed a different type of person within us. Faced with the loss of those we love the most, handling complex medical issues, grappling the changing social dynamics in our communities - these are things that shape who we are.
"His grief he will not forget, but it will not darken his heart - it will teach him wisdom." (Tolkien - Return of the King)
It's been my finding that the presence of suffering or long term grief/difficulties have, in a sense, purified my sense of joy (both in life, and in connecting with those who also struggle).
The Light becomes more palpable while we are in the shadows. That which holds Beauty and Truth shines all the brighter when we must cling to it for dear life. Joy becomes less like confetti, more like witnessing God raise us from the dead.
What within you stirs up equal parts of joy and grief? How is it defining and defying the darkness you're walking through?
As we observe Ash Wednesday tomorrow, how can we invite God to sit with us in the ashes of our current circumstances? What if we dared to let the darkness around us better veil our own misconceptions of what His Presence is supposed to look like, and focus on His illuminated face?
Join me, and let us learn this season to embrace this present darkness for a better understanding of the Light.
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Further Lenten season recommendations:
Songs:
"Dust We Are and Shall Return" by The Brilliance
"Apostles Creed" by Liturgical Folk
"Shasta's Complaint" by Sarah Sparks
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