Today the struggle is real. Today I don’t feel like
reflecting or being thankful. The last thing I want to do is sit down in this
beautiful coffee shop, with my favorite lemonade and write. Usually that
desire, to write and reflect, is so strong, the words can’t help but pour out
onto the page. Usually they have been twirling and culminating in my head for
weeks until this day arrives when they trip and fall over each other demanding
to be heard. But not today. Not this year. This year they cling to the shadows
longing to hide in the cooling shade of darkness. “Leave me alone” they shout,
“Can’t you see I’m sad today and want to be by myself?”
And yet I find myself here, sipping that lemonade and
forcing my thoughts to the light. Because eight years ago I made a promise to
myself. A promise that this day would not be completely shrouded in darkness
but rather light and hope. A day to take something horrible and make it
beautiful, or at the very least, to speak truth that God redeems and restores
brokenness. That He uses all things, even the suicide of another, for His glory
and my good. Because here’s the thing about things left in the dark: they grow
into something slimy, ugly and full of death (don’t believe me? Turn over the
next rock you see stuck half deep in dirt. YUCK). And so today I write. Today,
I refuse to let death have the final word. I refuse to let the darkness win.
Do I still feel sadness on this day? It is more profound and
deep than words can express. Do I still cry on this day? Yes, they threaten
even now, in this quiet public place, to spill over to sound of The National
singing “Nothing I wouldn’t do for another few minutes…”. This is the one day a
year I let myself feel the depth of sorrow that comes from my father choosing
to walk out of my life. The day I confidently proclaim “This is not the way it
is supposed to be.”
That phrase seems to be a resounding echo these days.
“Not the way its supposed to be.”
“Not the way its supposed to be.”
I truly believe in God’s sovereignty. I know these things and
so much more have formed me into the woman I am today. Without it I would not
feel the deep longing to love children who are displaced from their home.
Without it I would not know two silent souls weeping next to each other do more
than mere words ever could. Without walking through hell and back more times
than I care to recount, I would not be the person I am today. And so, in some
weird and twisted way even I don’t understand, I wouldn’t trade this and all
the other experiences because without them I would not be who I am today. A
bold, creative, curious person who breaks the categories life demands she
conforms to (see last years post for more on that).
Because of these experiences, I get the honor of walking
through darkness with the people around me. Because of these, I have the
ability to look into situations and say “This is not how God intended it.” I
see clearly and feel deeply the pain of living in a world that was initially
created good but is now broken and filled with darkness. No, this is not the
way God intended the world to be when he created it good and perfect.
And yet, God, in His grace and mercy, stepped down into this
dark and completely screwed up world to bring hope. Hope that exists beyond
what I think or feel. Hope that others can hold and believe for me when I
cannot believe it for myself. Hope that I can cling to and believe for others when
they have none themselves. I get the distinct honor and privilege of saying
“This darkness you are walking through, it is familiar to me. I cannot fix it.
I cannot chase it away. BUT I can sit in it with you. I can and will walk
through it with you. I will declare over you the hope I have found in the
steadfast love of Jesus. I can promise you that you are not alone. And I can
promise you Jesus has not abandoned you to Hell but walks every heart-wrenching
step with you. He, my friend, will even carry you when you have no strength to
carry you’re self.”
I can say these things because I have walked through the
darkness myself. I remember days so dark, standing up to walk 15 feet down to
the hall to use the bathroom seemed impossible. Yet somehow I found myself
walking. I remember the crushing weight of darkness as I cried out to God, in the
middle of the most furious storm I had ever seen, asking Him to please to just kill me
now because the pain of breathing was too much only to have Him send a 14 year
old out the door to sit on a porch swing, just 5 feet away, listening to his iPod and completely unaware of the
battle raging within. I remember crying out in
agony as I forcefully hurled my medication at the wall screaming “You’re not
working!” and desperately wanting to figure out how the word “Help” to a friend.
You see, the
darkness has been real. I have touched it. I have tasted it. I have even played with it.
But God in his love and mercy, in each moment, intervened when I couldn’t not.
He did not abandon me to hell, though I begged him countless times. If you’re
reading this, and you’re walking through darkness of your own, know this: I have
been exactly where you are and the only thing I can tell you is that Hope exists
beyond your circumstance. Right now things are so dark and you don’t see a way
out. Take a step, just one, because it will bring you that much closer to the
other side of this black. Right now you want to curl in ball, pull the covers over
your head and hide until the world sorts itself out. Oh dear friend, I’ve been
there, today I am there, and I want you to know that while you’re feelings are
valid, they can often lie to you.
There is Hope my friend. Hope that exists
outside of you and me. A Hope that says there is more to this life then the
present darkness you are facing. A Hope that says “come to me all who are weary
and weighed down by burdens unimaginable. And I will give you rest.” See that’s
the thing about Hope. It exists outside of you and I. Outside of our feelings,
outside of the lies told to us by our bosses, family, friends, society or
whoever it is that is making your burden heavier instead of walking through it
with you or coming along side you to help shoulder the heavy load. Hope is something
we can look to, cling to, and believe in when all else fails. And that Hope has
a name. His name is Jesus.
