Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.
Never in my life have these words rang so true as they do now. I walk through my current season in a constant haze, numb to all happiness. Sometimes I wonder if it will come back, or if I have lost Joy forever. The Joy that I felt before is foggy, and now Joy seems like a foreign concept. Joy seems different, a feeling that is unattainable and just out of reach.
At times I can’t remember the season of laughter that preceded this current season of weeping. This season is all encompassing and I feel it takes over every essence of my being. My past Joy feels almost as if it didn’t exist, as if Joy in all it's essence doesn't exist in this world. But, I know that the complete opposite is true, that I only know this deep ache because I once knew its equal counterpart with absolute clarity. Joy did exist, it does exist, it just isn't accessible right now. I am in a different season.
Sometimes when I think of my Joyful life before my husband died, and I think about the fact that he is no longer here, I feel I literally can’t get enough air in. My heart races and panic sets in. I frantically try to turn my thoughts away, push through the darkness, and desperately look for light. There I sit, in the darkness, eyes straight forward waiting for them to adjust.
It’s like I’m stuck in that time between when the lights go out and when your eyes finally adjust to the new reality of darkness that surrounds you. And, as much as I am scared and want my eyes to adjust, the scarier part is that when they do, and life is a little lighter, it will be lighter without Curt in it. This is overwhelming, this makes me panic, and this makes me wonder if it’s better to sit in the darkness a little longer.
All of this said, I cling to the words of my Creator, who, thankfully, knows vastly more than my limited understanding of truth. His plan is much bigger than I know, this brings me comfort in the season of darkness. His words tell me that there is a season for everything under the heavens. This season of mine is dark and grey, full of weeping and full of depths of sorrow that many do not understand. As I walk through a season without Joy, it makes me understand just how important all of the seasons are.
I now know the absolute powerful and undeniable strength that the seasons have on each and every one of us. I believe there is a purpose for each season, even though I long to skip this current season of weeping. My season has changed for now, it is a time to grieve and a time to rebuild. But I will continue to cling to the words that we are given, that there is a season for everything under the heavens.
I cling to the idea that I may one day laugh again without the weeping just underneath the surface. That I may dance again without hesitation. That I may love again without constant fear that they will die too. That I may feel the feeling of peace over my body and in my soul. The thought of all of these seasons bring me hope, and I know that is why God gave us these words, to remind us that even though this world is hard, there is beauty in everything. For every season of pain there is a positive opposite. God is good, he will provide.
But, for now, I will sit this dance out. I will take the time to grieve and to weep, give honor to the past season of pure Joy that I was given. I know that God gave me that season and will hold me up as I walk through my current season without Joy.
Thank you Melissa. This is powerful and I find myself wanting to fix this pain but knowing that is impossible. From our Rwandan friends who passed through a brutal season of grief post Genocide, my hope is that after a "night" of weeping, that somehow JOY will come in the "morning". Many join me in praying for that.
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