A Few Words for Heavy Seasons
We woke up to a thick layer of snow, and while the sky was still gray, the brightness of the ground offered a gentle hope. A little flicker of lightness.
Over the last week, my chest has been heavy for those who got a call they had been dreading or whose community has been touched by yet another round of violence. For people whose bodies have been stretched thin by illness or who perpetually feel like outsiders in familiar rooms. For the echoes of my own grief that return this time each year like a predictable shadow.
Winter is often unforgiving in its harshness.
But like the flakes falling softly outside my window, winter also has moments of hush, where peace hovers soft and silent and light peeks through the branches of bare trees.
Here, I remember to breathe again, to let myself be held. I fold into the tenderness of God, who draws near like a Gentle Knowing, and a Psalm buried within the folds of my memory rises up, not with hollow cliches but with promises that have been proven and will be proven yet again:
I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord.1
Like winter, waiting is winnowing, and strength is more often formed than mustered. But I have yet to experience a season that did not have another side. Sooner or later, those oppressive clouds part, and hope falls on unexpected places.
Until then, we wait.
We gather courage from snow swirling outside our windows or from friends who ask how we are. We carry blankets with us from room to room and unapologetically drink five cups of tea. We burn candles knowing that even in the midst of all our questions, light is the only the answer to the darkness.
And we pray: God, help us see your goodness.
grace + peace,
Sarah
Good Things to Pick Up
a short list to narrow the space between us
A Quote
“We are created by and for and through grace, and yet our work here is hard work through many strenuous journeys of ‘carrying our own cross.’ […] It is hard work to live into this generative love, and it is what we are made for: to paint light into the darkness, to sing in co-creation, to take flight in abundance.” —Makoto Fujimura, Art + Faith
An Essay
In today’s letter, I alluded to my own cyclical grief. I was not trying to be cryptic but the loss of our son is a lot to unpack in a short post. However, I also recognize that some of us are new to each other, and you might carry some questions about my story so let me point you to an essay I wrote many years ago about receiving a fatal diagnosis two days before Christmas. (Note: the essay does contain themes of infant loss. And for the record, I’m not grateful that my son died, but that God was proven good on the other side.)
A Friend to Follow
In times of mourning or melancholy, I find comfort in the Psalms and (more recently) through the poets. I found Drew Jackson’s poetry not long ago and am grateful for how his words wrap words around so many human things. I think you might like him. (PS: Feel free to recommend your favorite poets!)
Psalm 27:13-14 NIV