A Season Without Joy

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.

Faith Shaped Hole

It seems to me, based on my countless conversations with others, that we all seem to have the same hole shaped longing for fulfillment within ourselves. The kind of longing that is shaped perfectly like Faith, Hope and Love. The problem is, this hole I speak of, and the three corresponding virtues, are invisible and can not be seen by the eyes. So, where do we go from there? What is this longing and where does it come from? Today I ponder Faith.

All of my life I have relied on Faith, I’ve never questioned this knowing, only clung to it. I don’t necessarily think it is something that my parents pounded into my head, for I remember going to church and soaking it in when my parents didn’t go. All that said, in no way do I believe that I know more than others or believe that my faith enables me to judge others for their non faith. In fact, it does the opposite. It cause me to really ponder what faith is, where it comes from, and what it fulfills within in my soul.

I believe that it is that hole within ourselves, that longing for fulfillment, that causes us all to ponder what we believe to be true about our spirituality. For some, they decide that there is no God, nothing to believe in. For others, skepticism in turn causes a not knowing that permeates into an unbelief of sorts, a person who claims neither faith or disbelief. And then there are those who believe that the only thing that is truly real, is that which is unseen. Those that know that the hole in their heart is really just a longing for Faith in their Creator. A Faith that makes sense of this seemingly out of control existence. This existence that seems to make us wail with sadness and weep with joy in the same year, or even hour.  For me, I know that I fit into this category. I know that I am not in control of this existence, and I also know, without fail, that this existence is much bigger than we will ever know while on this earth and much bigger than we are.

This world is short, fast and then it’s finished. For me, I know that’s not it, it’s not game over. For I believe that what we do in this world really does matter and once it’s over, that is when it truly begins. I feel that this hole in my heart, this longing to be fulfilled, is a longing that is there to help me fulfill a bigger purpose. We are part of a bigger picture and it is our responsibility to figure that out.

I have heard many people express to me over the years that, to them, they don't believe in God but only believe what matters is that they are kind to others and that they treat others well, faith is irrelevant. As, yes, I too strongly believe that it does matter how we treat others, I also believe what matters is that behind that kindness lies a Faith that is unfaltering, a Faith that will guide you even in the darkest of nights. I believe that Faith in the unseen, and Love from our Creator, is what gives you the capacity to truly be kind from a place of child like innocence.

Let me explain.

I feel that this world is a dark and hard place. It is filled with letdowns and sadness, times of crushing pain that literally bring you to your knees. I believe that this can break you to your core, bring out colors of yourself that you never knew were there. These times will rock your thinking on everything you have ever felt was real. It is during those times that you truly realize how important it is to have an understanding of that spiritual hole within yourself. 

I believe that if you have chosen to fulfill the spiritual hole we all have with only a commitment to being kind to others, in the end, that kindness may one day fade into resentment. For I believe that honest and unfaltering kindness comes from a Loving light of God. Kindness is the works of Faith. I believe that we all have a purpose, a reason we are here and we all have the capacity to understand it if we let God lead us and listen to our inner light. Through death, heartache, letdowns and pain, this world will test our souls and cause us to question what we know to be true. We are human and we can not do it on our strength alone. The hole is longing to be filled with light and with truth, it is our free will and our responsibility to search for it.

Therefore, to me, all I know to be true is that of which my eyes do not see. This blind Faith is what will lead me in the darkness and give me strength to always be kind, even when life is not fair or others are not kind to me in return.

In the end, as I ponder my Faith and what that means, I think about the fact that there are so many religions and people that hinder the name of Jesus and what Faith really means. I believe that what matters is that God is Love and God gives us Hope which fills us with Faith.  I believe that Faith, Hope and Love are the fillers for our hearts and what we are all longing for. These three make us able to live deeper, make sense of the unthinkable, and ultimately make it through this life and into the next while fulfilling our unique purpose on the earth. It is through these virtues that we can honestly give kindness and compassion to those around us. These virtues will lead us when we can’t see and change our hearts into people that Love without fail and look forward when all we want to do is look back.

Losing Your Identity

One thing you have to process when you lose the one person you feel you can’t live without, is another loss, your identity. The last five years I have spent intertwining my whole self with Curt. We spent countless hours talking about our views on this life, the good and the bad. We talked and kissed and talked some more. Before we knew it we didn’t know where one of us ended and the other began. I literally felt a gravitational pull between us. We very rarely disagreed about things and always, without fail, listened to each other. Respect was the basis of our relationship, we adored each other.

As much as Curt changed me into the woman I am today, I know I breathed a newness into his life as well. A way of looking at this world with a softness. We blossomed together and were very aware of it. We never took this fact for granted, we discussed it regularly. We figured out what made each other feel good and what we should avoid. Our souls meshed and our identities became a wife and a husband first, everything else second.

During our relationship I put a lot of time and energy into our story. The story of how we met that fateful day on the river, and the years after as supported each other in our goals of travelling, school and work. We figured out that fairy tale love does exist. The years bled together and I let them characterize who I had become. These years unleashed my ability to think critically, to analyze the world, and to understand that this life is a mosaic of beautiful colors and definitely not black and white.

This story and my identity have been what I have struggled with since my husband died. This identity that I have been so extremely and vibrantly proud of, felt gone. It is a terrifying feeling when you find yourself alone, desperately trying to hold onto the story that you have created, but not having the other person there to share your memories with or make the story crisp.

Ive talked to others who have lost a loved one and struggle with that same loss of identity. The idea that you don’t know how to be a person in this world without your person here beside you. You put countless days and years into meshing your lives together and that person has become a vital part of your story.  When that person is taken from you, you are stuck here figuring out who you are, if not their wife, husband, brother, sister, son or daughter.

How do you move forward when you feel that your identity has been pulled out from under you? How do you move forward at all if you don't know how to be a person without the other person there along side of you? My identity has been my story, the story of us. Now I feel I am missing half of that story, therefore missing half of my identity.

As I ponder this subject, mull it over in my head and process this part of my grief, I have come up with this. My identity is not only made up of the time I had with my love, it is also made up of what I had gone through before him and what I have withstood since his passing. So for all of us, yes, our identities may be strongly and fiercely shaped by another person, but we also are shaped by our experiences, which in turn shape our thoughts and our hopes and our dreams. Those things make up our identity as much as another person does.

I believe and have hope for the future and that is my identity. I have this hope and this faith only through Jesus, and that is my identity. As much as I have put so much of my time and energy into our story and being Curt’s wife, I know that my identity, first and foremost, is God’s precious daughter.

My time with Curt shaped me into a woman of strength, dignity, and confidence. Dealing with the loss of the only person I can’t bear to lose, has molded and changed my identity and forced me to ponder this idea of how we identify ourselves on this earth. My identity over the last few months has changed into a woman who knows she is not alone, she is being carried by her creator. A woman who is precious in God’s sight and is still here, despite the crushing pain, because she has a purpose and a plan to carry out and I will do so with confidence.

I believe that all of our identities are shaped by this fact. We all have a reason that we are here and a responsibility to seek out what it is we are supposed to do during our time on this earth. There will inevitably be times in our lives when we will lose the ones we have loved, but our identity does not change with this loss. Our identity is deeply rooted in our paths that we are here to seek and deeply rooted in God's love for us.

So, as I continue on, I will do so with the assurance that my identity is a girl that has learned how to love with all her heart. I will continue to give that love back with an understanding that love is the whole purpose of our time on this earth. Love is what shapes our stories and allows us to understand why we are here. It is our job to open our hearts and listen to our stories calling us forward.

Empathy is a Virtue?

A self realization that everybody is fighting a very hard battle, and we are all in this life together, is a concept that I believe allows freedom and clarity into your existence. The idea that my life is no harder than yours, for we all are temporary, and we all will eventually know sorrow, helps me to understand that all of this is much bigger than we are. We all will one day know the sorrow that I speak of, sorrow that consumes your mind and overtakes your every sense. Sorrow that comes from losing the love of your life, whomever that may be.

Being human means facing our own mortality, the mortality of the ones we love, and understanding that the temporariness of this life is very real. For, if you have known the depths of love that I have known, you will one day know the depths of sorrow that accompanies it. It is because of this fact, that I wish to ponder empathy.

I believe to truly empathize for another person is an art. This art form requires a quiet humbleness and a thankful heart. To feel empathy for another person you have to have the capacity to dive into their reality, strip away your own biases, and feel with all of your senses. This process can begin to allow you to truly see what another person is going through and feel what they are feeling. It is a difficult and scary process. It requires patience and being aware of yourself, aware of what you believe to be true. As with any artistic ability, I believe we all have it within us. If we nurture this virtue, practice it and believe in it, we all can use it and model it for others.

Curt was my life, my best friend, my lover, my leader, my husband. Together we made a little family, we were unstoppable. Over the last few months there have been times when I don’t know if I can go on. Time has lost all meaning, I feel bloody and weary, as if I just walked out of a battle field. Walking with my head held low, my body slow and cumbersome. As I walk like this, I am walking through my everyday life. I go to work, go to church, go on hikes, go to friends, and I do all of this with a smile. But, my smile is hollow, it doesn’t feel as whole as before. Something may be funny, but it’s not quite as funny as it was before. I will laugh, but remember mid laugh that he is not here to laugh as well, and it all fades away. I can literally feel myself fade and go grey. I have wondered if this feeling will also fade, I’m not so sure about that.

The subject of empathy has been prevalent during this process for two reasons.

First, I have realized that I need and want others to understand. I long for them to at least try, try to understand what it would be like if it were their husband that didn’t make it off of the river that day. I’ve realized that it has mattered to me if my friends are being mindful of what they say, mindful of their words or pictures of themselves smiling together, things that are shared around my aching heart. For, that is what it is, it is like an aching, bloody wound, and I’m trying hard not to get dirt in it. Waiting anxiously for it to scab over, ready to be able to go back outside without worrying about the elements scratching it and accidentally tearing off the scab. There have been times when I literally can’t understand why others are complaining about their life to me, and all I can do is stare back at them, numbly nod my head wondering if this is really happening. Are people really still worried about these seemingly insignificant things? Are they really saying “I know I shouldn’t complain to you, but, its my life, and it’s still hard”..?  

Like I said, I numbly stare back at them.

Which leads me to the second reason I believe that this virtuous word, empathy, is prevalent during my process. I have been frightened during this path of sorrow, that I have lost the natural empathy trait that I have always believed to be true of myself. I am scared that I no longer can listen to others without silently judging them for not being on their knees with gratitude for the life that they have. They still have their person with them on this earth. To me that is worth thankfulness and complaining in addition to this seems to me to not deserve empathy. And that thought scares me. Because, I know it’s not true. I am in a foggy reality and I am anxious for it to lift. I long to once again naturally be able to understand where others are coming from, to without hesitation climb into their reality and be a person for them to cry with or lean on. I know that I am attempting to do this now, I am just anxious for it to once again be second nature.

I know I will get there and I also know that sorrow has changed me. It has forced me to understand the depths of this world and the preciousness of life. I know I will continue on, I will return to being able to listen and not automatically shutting down. I know this because I understand that we all are fighting a hard battle and my life is no harder than yours. I am no different than others, these feelings I now know so well, will be known by all. I just happen to be going through it now, not tomorrow.

Reflection On a Common Question..

Many of my close friends have told me that people always ask them how I am doing. They share that this is often asked with a downward glance and a soft voice, as if they are bracing themselves for the news. The news that I can’t get out of bed in the morning, that I keep my shades drawn, and that I have no hope left. It’s a normal question and a weighted question in the same breath. I get this question as well. I never know what to say. My mind draws a blank and I search for what I should say. I’ve come to realize that this is a question that  our society asks each other constantly, while half the time not listening to the response or giving an honest answer.

As I think about how I am doing, one memory is in the forefront of my brain. In the past I’ve had to watch amazing people go through losing the love of their lives. I remember thinking there is no way, no way I would survive losing Curt. As they were able to keep breathing all I could think was that I just knew that if I had to go through that, I would die too, right along side my love. And, in a way, I think part of me did die that day. Part of my heart is so intertwined with his that it is no longer here, it is with him where he is now. I wouldn’t change that for a moment. It means I loved him with all I had, the complete opposite of what I am feeling now. Just as deep and just as profound. Equal.

But, I have realized that you don’t die completely. You live. You slowly live. Minute by minute you learn how to do this and how you are doing changes by the instant.

You still breath, even though at times it feels insanely hard to get enough air in. You eat, even though at times you have to eat just fast enough or risk letting your mind wander and losing your appetite. You sleep, even though at times you toss and turn feeling for them, the familiar warmth that is no longer there. You work, even though sometimes you want to scream and cry out, beg people to see that none of this matters. You carry on conversations, even though people talk about things that, to you, seem so absurd. All you can do is shake your head and think, life is too short, absolutely too short, to waste your breath talking about another person or to complain about a situation rather than accept it or make a change and move forward.

So, how am I doing? I’m devastated and broken, no doubt about it. I am angry, frightened, sad, lonely, and in a state of shock. At times, all these things at once, other times, one at a time, other times, nothing at all, just blank. 

But the thing is, even though at times I feel all of these emotions, I find comfort in knowing that 100% of the time I am made strong by knowing that I am Mrs. Curtis Van Alen Joyce. Having that name has made me feel that I could be nothing less than strong. Long ago Curt and I became one person, each with our own strengths that together made us unstoppable. I honestly believe that when Curt passed away on the river that day, I received all of his strength as well. Jesus knew exactly what I would need and gave it to me.

So, over the last couple months I haven’t died, I’ve continued to do what I know how to do well, be Curt's wife and partner. Hold my head up and make my baby proud. Honor him by staying true to myself and not letting the darkness take over. Be the person that he married, someone who believes in storybook love and who always strives to be positive. I believe that if during your darkest and most unimaginable times you are able to keep your character and be your best self, you can do anything during your time on earth. And, although the tears haven’t stopped, neither has my faith.

Feeling the Pain

Loss, to me, has been a crazy and absurd journey. There are times when my body physically aches, my heart feels like it is being squeezed and I can’t get enough air in, and there are moments of peace, of starting to understand that I will be ok and that I am being carried through this.

Today I will talk about the pain of loss. I do so with the hope that someone else may relate, my words may resonate with you and help you feel not alone. Because, you are not.

The times of deep ache, for me, come when I really think about my husband. When I see videos and pictures. I am instantly reminded that the person I knew better than anyone else on this earth, and who knew my every thought, is not here. I will never again get to rely on his wisdom to help me through the day or rely on his kiss to make the world disappear. This is torture. The word torture is the best way I have found to describe this longing. I don’t believe there are earthly words to truly describe it, so I will stick with torture. I mean, the word torture, to me, ignites the deepest fire of sadness, and that is what I feel.

When I think of the last 5 years, more than half of the memories are shared by only Curt. He is the only person that shares that thought, story, feeling, or sense. I can no longer talk to, and get an answer back, from him regarding those thoughts. This realization is one of the hardest. It feels as though those memories are being held hostage until I see him again. Those years of my life don’t feel as crisp, I have to rely on only myself to recall the memory. The way we felt the first time we walked on South East Asia soil, the way we felt as we sprawled out on the ground in our middle of nowhere to look at the stars, the way we felt when he got down on one knee on the side of the Skagit River with all his courage and shakiness.. Memory after memory, my list could fill ten thousand sheets.

When I think about his body, the perfect gorgeous, fit, body that I followed up and down countless trails, is no longer here. I long with every essence of my soul, to follow those legs up a trail, to reach the top and have his arm around my neck, have him kiss my forehead and tell me how he knows that together, me and him can do anything.

When I see a video of him talking it is like this never happened. He is here. The video brings into play the normalcy of my husband that I know so well. Him telling a story and giving advice. Talking as he has for thousands of hours to me, over quiet dinners, under comfy blankets, on a plane, on a trail, in this country and far off lands.

I often think of my husbands hands. His perfect, manly hands that could be strong as nails when needed and soft as satin when he wanted to be tender. I can see their every outline, and feel their touch. His meticulous hands, working to get our boats just right or cook me an awesome meal.Torture is definitely the only word that fits.

I know his every smirk, his every way of speaking, his silly, his serious, his passion. I know it all and I have come to understand that our brains are not wired to understand or compute the loss of our everyday normal.

As those of you who have lost a spouse know, there are hundreds of these memories that can go from being a comforting memory to a torturous thought, all in the course of an instant. I think it all depends on the state that you are in at the time. If you are having one of those hours where you are feeling like maybe you can do this, maybe you got this, then perhaps the memory would ignite a smile. But, if you are having an hour where you feel like the thought of going another instant without your love is unbearable, then the memory can feel like you are being held hostage. And, for me, I do what is now my normal, I start crying, and this time it is the deep wailing of crying that I would wish on no one. The kind where you don’t make sense, you cry out and sob uncontrollably. A very, very dark place. A place where you are very aware of the hole in your heart, the aching hole that seems to be the only thing that matters in the world.

Although, I know we can do this, we can move forward with strength and grace from Jesus, it doesn’t mean that it is easy. It is torture and it is not easy. Strength on the outside, a small child’s weakness on the inside. And, maybe that’s as it should be, the bible says “The Lord protects those of childlike faith; I was facing death, and then he saved me” Psalm 116:6. I feel like a small child, weak and scared, I feel that I, myself, am facing death. It is my faith and my hope that the Lord hears our prayers, knows our heart, and will continue to carry all of us and protect us through our greatest storm on earth.

Understanding the Reason

In 2009, my world shifted. I found the person who completed my soul. I found the person who helped me see myself, for all my beauty and all my strength. The person who brought out my silly, made me do happy dances constantly, called me by pet names, and knew every curve of my body.

On March 18th, 2014 my world shifted once again. The love of my life, my beautiful and passionate husband, left his body to be with our Lord. He was on a 12 day kayaking adventure in Grand Canyon National Park with 9 of his close friends. He was found upside down, in calm water, and non responsive. No one knows what happened. He was here one moment and gone the next. Curt was a class 5 kayaker with skills and abilities that would impress us all. There is no reason why he wouldn’t pull his skirt and get out of his boat. The investigation found no contributing factor as to why he drowned and I believe that we will never know the reason while we are on this earth. So, what do you do with that information? How do you move forward with a question mark hung above your head? I’ll tell you how I am doing it, with faith and grace from God. Through this hard and unimaginable pain I have determined that the why, and the reasons, are bigger than we are able to see, but that we will know someday. Let me explain.

The night I received the call and was told that my husband died, is a complete blur yet clear at the same time. If that makes sense. I knew before the call that something was wrong, I had received a call from rescue people that something had gone wrong but that they had no information yet. I knew something went wrong on the canyon, I knew someone was hurt, but I didn’t know what or who or why. When I was handed the phone with anticipation of hearing my love’s voice, eagerly crying out to him to tell me what happened, it was not him on the other line. Brett, his best friend, was waiting to tell me that the other half of my soul had passed away on the river that day. I knew when I heard his voice. It is the moment that my life changed forever, and the moment that I feel part of myself died as well. After that it is a blur. People were talking and crying and living and I felt that I was not there.  So, the best I have to describe it is clear yet foggy at the same time. The darkest time I could have ever imagined possible.

All of that said, through this dark, dark walk, all of us who were closest to Curt on this earth, me, his family, my family, we all have expressed to each other that we know that Curt is ok. We have expressed that this world is bigger than we are and so is the reason that Curt was taken from us so soon. We know that we can not do this life on our own, and now, more than ever, we rely on our Creator to carry us and lead us through this long and curvy road. What is also amazing is the fact that not only do we all know this and have felt it during the darkest times of our lives, Curt was filmed on camera the same day he died, saying the same thing. Expressing that this world, this amazing, vast, and raw earth, is bigger than we are and we can not do it on our own. If we all agree on this fact, my beautiful husband and those of us who are left here with gut wrenching pain, then how can it not be true?

So, how do we move forward with a question mark over our head and not knowing what caused my husband to drown? I do so because I know that this world has shifted because of Curt’s death. It is bigger than we are and I know that we will know the reason one day. Even during the deepest, darkest hours of the first few days after finding out about my husbands death, I felt that this was always the time, it was already set, that he was going to go home to be with our Lord on March 18th 2014. I can't explain it, and I don't even really know what I mean by it. What I do know now is that Curt is not hurting, Curt is alright. He is with our Lord and he now knows the secrets of the world that we all long to know. He knows of our beautiful paths that we all are left here to walk down. He knows the hurt and the sorrow that we feel, but he also knows the in-depth opposite of those realities. He knows the pure joy and magnificent light that awaits us. He knows we will be ok. He knows that we will persevere and grow. This is what keeps me going. This is how I breath every day and put one foot in front of the other.

Video of Curt's trip on the Canyon