My son is sentenced to 5 years in prison. Sitting in court, I listen to felony after felony announced. He pleads guilty to all of them. I feel traumatized, hearing, living, seeing everything in 3-dimensional agony. The people next to me are his victims. That’s both horrifying and mortifying. Numbly, I drive the 2 hours home.
On the way home, I call Dad in the care facility. His first hospice appointment is upon us. He is dying. An unchangeable, heartbreaking fact of life. My already crushed heart clenches with agony.
I have grandchildren I have never seen.
And the dog is dying.
Sorrow wends slowly through my soul, slowing my motion, dulling the colors around me. At night, I fear going to bed, knowing sleep will only tease me with a blitz of numbness before a nightmare. At 3 am, full of fatigue, my heart races with anxious impulses to change the world, or at least my world. Any change would be great. The only thing I seem capable of fighting is sleep, and that only at night.
Loss flattens all of us like a steamroller. A loved one could be lost to drugs, estrangement, illness, or death. Careers crash. Possessions are gone. Abuse occurs. Cruelty abounds. Loss.
I consider calling a counselor so he can tell me it’s normal and healthy to grieve, that I will get through. This too shall pass, and all that. It feels like empty words. I think about my favorite ways to escape. A break would be nice. But even the act of escaping feels depressing because nothing gets done. I’ll plod forward to get something done so I can feel good about the accomplishment and then rest to be kind to my broken self. I read a chapter in a funny book and laugh, which lifts me a bit. I take herbs to improve my mood. I call a girlfriend for prayer. The sympathy makes me feel better. Being validated, not told to get over it. Nice.
Does this sorrow and grieving define me? No. Absolutely not. It feels like it does this week. But I will not give up. I will not let it define me. I will move forward. It’s Advent, and today we light the joy candle. My perspective shifts from my circumstances to God’s truths. My load lightens as I head to the Lord’s house.
The sanctuary sparkles with twinkle lights. The music floods over me with the stunning beauty of the gift of the Christ child. That I should be set free from the curse of evil into the light of glory. The sweet alto tones of Marissa float through the sanctuary, flooding broken hearts with joy. The sheer goodness of the Lord triumphs exultantly over my soul, making me feel whole. And joy. I am buoyed by the joy of the Lord.
I realize that I am feeling both deep sorrow and joy simultaneously. The grieving is not gone. I am still losing many precious loved ones all at once. But what is this joy? Can sorrow and joy coexist?
I realize the great sorrow is due to my circumstances. The opposite of sorrow is happiness when my circumstances please me. But joy! Joy is a geyser of life from the Lord. It knows no bounds. Joy embraces sorrow. It swirls and twirls along the edges, plucking at the sorrow, lightening my load, making it bearable. Joy can coexist and intermingle with sorrow. We can live simultaneously in acceptance of our catastrophic loss and in a hopeful and peaceful spirit. Loss has enlarged my soul’s depth for sadness and agony. In its enlarged capacity, I also find a greater depth of joy and love.
Today, I shift my gaze to be filled with joy. Life’s sorrows aren’t forgotten; the ability to rejoice in their presence is found. In deepest suffering, character is steeped. My soul matures in wisdom, humility, and kindness. Loss doesn’t make me less; perhaps it enlarges me into something more. In my awakened reality, I face my dark jungle of sorrow. Yet I dance and smile with gratitude for the beauty I encounter in patches of sunlight. In 100 years, my sorrows will be long faded, but I will still have the joy of God’s glory.
If you, too, feel the great sadness of loss over the holiday season, allow the sorrow to enlarge your capacity for depth. Allow joy to trickle and swirl along the edges, to lighten your load.
From the Tanakh, for my greatly loved friends who celebrate Hanukkah:
- “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Psalm 16:11 ESV).
- “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:5b ESV).
- “For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me” (Psalm 63:7-8 ESV)
- “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy” (Psalm 94:19 NIV).
- “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy!” (Psalm 126:5 ESV).
- “To console those who mourn in Zion, To give them beauty for ashes, The oil of joy for mourning, The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified” (Isaiah 61:3 NKJV).
Heavenly Father, we ache from the losses of our deepest love. Help us remember that the valleys of heartache cannot remove the mountains of heart-filled joy. May these circumstances grow me into greater wisdom and humility. Comfort me with the knowledge that you can heal those things that I cannot control. Give me the courage to accept life’s difficulties while I look for your hope, joy, peace, and love during Advent. To you, O Lord, be all glory and honor. Amen.
