Day 25. I have chosen to live intentionally toward the goals, dreams and desires God has placed on my heart for the last 90 days of this year, pressing past fear, excuses and discomfort toward fullness of life as we countdown to 2020. Day 25: feeling all the way through.
Thanksgiving was hard. Things changed. Someone I loved was missing from the kitchen, the table, the evening coffee talk in the living room, the hello and goodbye hugs, the play with the kids in the pasture. There was no apple crumble pie or favorite stuffing. I never did learn how to make the crumble right. I brought the cranberry sauce she taught me to make. Would she have liked the addition of fresh cinnamon? There was no talking about life as we rolled out pie dough, no joking about nonsense as we prepared the meal, no shared stories from years gone by because…change. Thanksgiving didn’t feel the same. Things changed.
We left after sundown to make the three-hour drive back home. The chatter of my kiddos ceased as the ambient hum of the car lulled them to sleep. In silence it came—tears racing tracks down my cheeks, the absence of words. Anger? Sadness? Loss? I could not distinguish. It just hurt. For 2.5 hours tears raced. No words. Just pain. Tears came. Sometimes I don’t like change.
“Go to bed. Goodnight. I love you! See you in the morning!” I wrapped my arms around my kiddos. Held them tight and kissed their cheeks and the tops of their heads. Lights out.
Silence.
Breathe in. Breathe out. No words. Just pain.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Pain.
“Kim, are you okay?”
“No. No I’m not.”
No words. Just pain. Tears came, racing tracks down my cheeks.
“I miss her smile. I miss her knowing who I am. I miss her jokes. I miss talking to her about life. I miss the light in her eyes, and I hate seeing it dim. I hate this. I. Hate. This. I know the world is not just, but I don’t get this. I don’t.”
Thanksgiving was hard this year. Things didn’t feel the same. Things changed. Change.
Action Steps: Over the last few weeks, a season of sickness was followed with an invitation to a season of mourning. I am not so good at mourning. It makes me feel powerless. It invites me to acknowledge my humanity, the fragility of this world, of life, of me. I try to avoid it, but it bubbles up. It demands acknowledgement, and it invites me to feel all the way through—not only tears, but laughter, love, loss, life and longing.
Advent reminds us that God comes to us in the in-between, wilderness spaces of life, where loss and longing are brought to light. It invites us to ask, “Where in my life do I long to know Jesus as Immanuel, “God with us” (God with me), in this season? Advent invites us to feel that longing all the way through.
Where are you longing to experience God with you in this season? Name it. Talk to God about it. Take your longing to God and allow yourself to feel your feelings all the way through in the presence of a God who loves us (you), comes to us (you), and draws near to us (you). Where do you long for hope in your life?
“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign:
The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel.”
Isaiah 7:14
