When Ryan and I met in 2010 we were in a season of death with the passing of our spouses, & this death included a burial of lifelong dreams and expectations.
The next few years we enjoyed a resurrection as our lives merged and birthed new realities: our marriage & family, a simple life in rural America, the birth of a book, a teaching career, a non profit & another child. Lots of growth & beauty.
We now find ourselves back in a season of decay; broken bodies over the past year: Ryan’s, mine, and Luke’s; broken ideals and dreams as we restructure & determine how we’ll proceed, lots of unanswered questions and concerns & the burial of systems that no longer serve us emotionally or spiritually, and we wait because we know. We know because we’ve been here before – this is familiar soil, deep & dark & rich soil where we’ve been planted and now we await our reemergence into the light.
We wait for our resurrection.
And we are confident that it will arrive in due time because that’s how life works.
Everything remains in motion; a continuous movement of death and resurrection, waves upon waves washing away the brokenness and moving what remains to the shore – natural disasters and coronavirus and despair not excluded – it’s all involved, collectively and individually; ashes to beauty and back to ashes again, circular movements until the maestro sweeps his baton for the last time & bows his head in holy reverence, that moment when his beloved creation leans into the finality & releases a labored breath – bursting through the birth canal into an everlasting resurrection.
And until then?
We just keep livin.
Grief shows up in the strangest ways.
Sometimes it’s eating a whole bag of Cheetos – in one afternoon.
Or maybe it’s instigating a huge argument with your spouse over whose turn it is to bathe the kids.
It might be popping a few Advil because your head won’t stop pounding
Or maybe it’s crawling into bed at 8:00 p.m.
and not getting out again until noon the next day.
Sometimes it’s serving cereal for dinner
Seven nights in a row
Or having that extra cocktail
Even though you have to work in the morning.
Sometimes it’s organizing your whole entire house
All of the closets and cupboards
And making 10 trips to Goodwill
Just to avoid thinking.
Sometimes it’s actually sitting down
And turning on a song
That you know will ignite the waterworks
And soaking in the pain
Rather than tapping your feet to the joyful beat.
Grief is a strange & unpredictable force – like a river that rages at times and calmly flows at other times.
It’s a part of us, the river, part of the experience necessary for life – as is the boat we cling to as the water bends us to its will; the boat that provides safety or is it, perhaps, captivity?
We could choose to row towards land; exit the boat & sink our weary feet into the mossy ground. Maybe even build a home – create a life with someone we love. A life beside the waters with the boat docked at shore; remembering our time on the river and grateful that the boat no longer serves as a life preserver or a prison. We might learn to dance again; slowly allowing our feet to reclaim their joy, a dance beside the cool, calm stream; a dance of remembrance and thankfulness as the river continues to ebb and flow.
There is a time for everything
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
Just keep livin.
Last night I rummaged through our attic and came across this old calendar from 2010. Flipping through its pages I paused when I arrived at August – August 2010 – the most difficult month of my life, a tumultuous month full of overwhelming obligations and demands: work, Luke’s birthday, family pictures, doctors appointments, four children farmed out on a daily basis to anyone and everyone, the arrival of hospice equipment, nursing staff in and out, important phone calls determining life or death decisions, and ultimately goodbyes whispered and a funeral prepared for a young husband and father.
This morning, eight years later, I bask in the warmth of the Tennessee sun, a beautiful fall day spent watching my rambunctious one year old daughter fill her little, red wagon with dry, autumn leaves as I hang freshly laundered clothing on the line. A day I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams in August of 2010. A day seeping with redemption, warmth, and joy.
The moral of the story? Circumstances can change in an instant. You may currently find yourself in the midst of an unimaginable hell, but hear me with this truth, hold on with every ounce of your being, hold on to him who is greater than he who is in the world, hold on to that last shred of faith in your soul no matter how unraveled or mangled or beat to crap it may seem, HOLD ON for goodness sake and for every other sake in the world for you have absolutely no idea what’s around the bend. You have no idea what may be in store for you when the Almighty flips your page, and you have no idea the blessing he may bestow when you “fight the good fight and finish the race.” You will have your peace again, you will have your joy; you will rise and have the crown of life bestowed upon your weary head, and you will hear those coveted words, “Well done good and faithful servant.” I promise – your faithfulness will win in this life or the next.
Just keep livin!