When I Thought My Only Companions Were Grief and Sorrow...Then Came Joy
I was raised being told that it was not good to wallow in your grief and sorrow. Now, I do believe that slipping into self pity is non productive and can lead to despair. However, I have learned that grief and sorrow are best listened to, experienced fully, and can not only deepen our capacity for empathy, but our capacity for joy as well.
I experienced an almost suffocating layering of losses and sorrow in 2010. My mother’s slow death process, a loved one's second separation in their short marriage (which God eventually redeemed and it is thriving!), the undeniable reality of the dysfunctional relationship between a first family member, their family, and the rest of our family all left me feeling numb and flat and yet with an ache somewhere deep inside.
No amount of distraction or discussion eased any of it.
My counselor had encouraged me to start a gratitude journal when my mom first started her downward spiral. So, I already had the daily practice in place, but during this season of even more pressing in I often had to truly meditate on and dig for what I was thankful for. Then at other times I just had to look out the window and see the skies, the breeze blowing the grasses and flowers and leaves on the trees.
There was the laughter and questions and snuggles from our two grandchildren at that time. Holding a child is so soothing and reminds us of how holistic life truly is. Listening to a beautiful song or piece of music. Air conditioning in a stifling, heat-soaked summer filled with constant time at the nursing home and yet the inverse: Stepping out of the air conditioned building into the scorching heat and feeling the warm sun soak into my chilled, exhausted soul and body and reveling in the sounds of life outdoors. Laughter with my familial sister, and laughter and tears with my sister of the heart who was in the same exact place in her journey with her mom...that's true companionship. Crawling into bed at night with a husband who went with the flow during this season of long days, interruptions to our own activities, the uncertainty that was a constancy around meals and short getaways. His arms were always waiting, his ears and heart always attentive, and his honesty at times was just what I needed to hear.
So, when I have chosen to reflect back on those last three and a half years of my mom’s life and especially the last eight months it can be overwhelming, but then I take out my gratitude writings and am undone by how closely I was tracking with God, seeing him with me every moment as I read the words of gratefulness I penned in some of the harshest, hardest moments I had experienced up to that time.
Joy was finding its way into deep, dark recesses in my core. The realization as I look back and see Immanuel with me in every moment, those good ones and those hard ones, opens up something inside of me. It’s akin to what it feels like when your muscles and body are sore and aching and someone gives you a back rub, or you get a good massage….you realize there are places that are tender that you had no idea about and the immediate discomfort of the pressure on them slowly releases a warmth and a feeling almost of euphoric relief. Because the purpose of the pressure is not to cause more pain and tension, but to identify it and relieve it, dispersing toxins and soothing and calming our minds and bodies. This is what knowing, looking for and seeing Jesus in those hard places and seasons can do for us. We realize we are not alone, we are never alone..and sometimes the comfort and the peace come flooding in and at other times those holy salves seep into our hearts and take up residence in a previously shut off portion of those numbed heart pockets.
I am not talking about jovial happiness. What I am sharing about is a strong, unyielding undercurrent of peace-filled joy. Joy wrapped in a blanket of shalom. It is what allows those we read about historically, and even present day people we look up to, to suffer well. Jesus does not always remove the suffering, no, that is true, but he comes and stands by us, sits with us, puts his arms around us, and even invites us to crawl into his lap, letting us know we will never, ever have to suffer alone...like he did...because that was already taken care of, the lonesomeness, when he spoke the words, “It is finished” from the cross.
I weep thinking of him losing his earthly father here, then hearing of his cousin John’s long imprisonment and eventual horrible death, his friends and followers abandoning him during his darkest hours. It breaks my heart, but then I realize the complete empathy and perfect love and never ending, never tiring desire to always be with me was partially borne out of his own losses, struggles, and grief and I exhale and crawl into his lap. Therein lies my joy.
