Is your heart heavy this morning with the problems of our world? Are you feeling overwhelmed with despair?
Maybe if you knew you could do something you would, but you just feel so small in the wake of so much trouble . . .
Well, in these feelings, I'm right there with you. It is so tempting to shut off the news right now and ignore. It's too much!
However, in this feeling, the word that has come to mind this week is...
Extra: more than is due, usual, or necessary.
And this is what I have been thinking, we all have something extra to offer the world.
No matter our life stage, financials, time, personality, etc. we ALL have something extra to offer. Something that we go out of the way to do that might cost us something (or a lot) to offer, but is our work to do.
Yet, I've been thinking that so many of us don't offer our "extra" because we've got our eyes on somebody else's extra.
We think that "Well, I can't give more because what I have isn't a lot."
Or "I'll do this particular kind act for someone when I have more resources to do it" (so you just do nothing in the meantime).
Or you simply just talk yourself out of what you have to give, being insecure about its worthiness.
But know this, the world needs your extra!
Your extra won't look like mine or somebody's else's, I'm sure of that, but it will be beautiful when you give it.
Maybe this week being "extra" might mean organizing something so that you might be a connector of people because you are good at that.
Maybe your "extra" might mean going deeper in a friendship-- really showing up for someone who needs you in their life, even if a thank you isn't always shared.
Maybe your "extra" might mean sending a handwritten card to someone who is grieving even if you think your handwriting is terrible.
I don't know what it is, but I bet you do!
Again, you might think to yourself that your "extra" isn't changing the world. It's not putting a dent in big social problems. You might even think it's as foolish as throwing pennies and making wishes in a fountains. But I want to be that voice in your life this morning that encourages you to go ahead and be extra.
Think of something that you can offer someone or an organization you care about with all your heart, and I promise you that as you do, your impact will be felt.
After all, doesn't it only take a little light to bring brilliance to a whole room?
Shining with you because the world needs our light now more than ever!
XO
Elizabeth
Good morning friends! Can you remember the last time you found yourself trying to make something happen?
Like getting someone to write you a really good recommendation letter (though no one asked for one) to go along with a job application?
Like ensuring your son invited his sister to something though you know he didn't want to?
Like giving a project in your home your all (even beyond your ability to give) so there was that "wow factor" when the moment of revel happened?
You do things like this because you have a picture in your head of what you want to happen. While there is nothing wrong with a vision, it's easy to believe that if you go over and above-- you can control the outcome.
Yet, such leaves out our word of the week: trust.
Trust: dependence on something future or contingent, hope.
So often I think the human experience comes low on trust.
You don't believe that good things are going to happen. Or you've been so burned in the past that it's difficult to dream once more.
So trust is the first virtue to go.
But what if? What if you led with trust, not control? What if you entered this day with a belief that things were working together for your good, even if it didn't feel like it in the moment?
What if you didn't work SO HARD to make what you wanted to happen, happen?
This year in particular, I've been renegotiating my relationship with trust. And, let me tell you what I've learned: trust can be so good.
Trust is wonderful tool in the spiritual life. Trust can offer you rest, hope and surprises (that are often more beautiful than what you could have pre-planned in your head).
Trust, you see, gives your life the space it ends to show you new things-- space you wouldn't have had if you were trying so hard . . .
So who's with me this week? Less thinking, less striving and more trusting . . .
I know there is beauty on the other side of "this thing" in your life you are holding on to so tightly. Trust!
XO
Elizabeth
Good morning friends! Can you remember the last time a feeling came out of nowhere and shocked you by its presence?
Usually we think of such in negative terms. For example, you could happily be going about your day living your best life and then, a feeling of anger, frustration or grief just surprises. Something you see or do triggers emotion and you must experience it (like or it not) right then. My widowed mother-in-law tells me this is why she sometime cries in the grocery store or at the post office. . .
But, this week, I encountered a term, the opposite of this negative experience, and it's glimmer.
Glimmer: a sign coming of something good or positive.
It's also a psychological word coined in 2018 by author Deb Dana. She describes it in technical terms as small moments when our body is in a place of connection or regulation, so that our nervous system feels safe or calm. So instead of our body reacting "out of sorts" to an experience in daily life (a trigger), a glimmer is a soul expanding experience that is a building block of love for our future self.
You see, glimmers aren't found in some "long-time comin' conversation" with a friend that you finally have after 2 years. Or in a moment when you get a much deserved promotion at work. Or when you finally sell your house that has been a market forever. Nope!
Glimmers are when you have enough breathing space in your day that you see the good right where you are.
You notice the hues of a sunset.
You laugh with a child.
You feel the warmth of the sun on your arms.
You hold someone's hand.
If you can stay present in these moments (without rushing to the next thing), your life glimmers before your eyes. And your heart softens just a little, preparing you to notice more glimmers in the day to come.
I have to think that this is what the Psalm that speaks of "Be still and know that I am God" is all about.
God's goodness can still abound to us even if our lives are imperfect and filled with pain. It's simply our soul's work to let the glimmers in.
There's a stained glass piece hanging in my kitchen. In the morning, it glimmers with colors of orange, red, green on my kitchen floor if the sun is out. It's beautiful and reminds me of this: the light somehow, someway always finds a way in.
I'm hoping the same for you in the week ahead, may the glimmers find you just when you need them the most.
XO
Elizabeth
P.S. Interested in learning more about what a glimmer is? This article is a great summary. Or this one might give you some ideas about what is a glimmer for you.
Do you have a word for the year?
Last year on Epiphany Sunday (early in January) I drew this week's word as my "Star Word." (If you are unfamiliar with this practice, you can read more about it here). It became a guiding point for so many of the decisions I made throughout 2021.
Openness: lack of restriction, free from obstruction.
Author Anne Lamott encourages a life built on openness in this book when she writes: “If we stay where we are, where we're stuck, where we're comfortable and safe, we die there... When nothing new can get in, that's death.” The counterpoint is also true: if we are alive, we can be OPEN.
As I settled into this word last year, what I noticed right away is that it's really much harder than it looks. For example, in your week--
Will you pout because things don't turn out as planned? Or will walk into a new day with openness?
Will you hang your hat solely on belief systems that have always worked for you? Or will you let openness lead you to what you need now?
Will you follow through with commitments simply because it is what you've always done? Or will you allow openness to re-recreate your schedule when the nudge comes?
In fact I would describe openness like walking through a dark cave. You know there is light somewhere. You know that just as you came in, you will go out. But all the "getting there" is very, very foggy.
For to be in a state of openness, you have more questions than you do answers. You are more lost on the path than found. You have more question mark prayers than you do resolute declarations.
Yet, openness is not about what your life looks like at any given moment. It's about HOPE.
If you are up for this openness challenge this week, pause for a moment. Put your hands in your lap. Open them palms facing up. Imagine what you'd like your hands to be more full of right now. More peace? More clarity? More____?
Sit with your Creator in the possibility of what might be next.
Waiting in openness with you-
XO
Elizabeth
Can you remember the last time you were getting ready for some event of importance?
Planning a long vacation. Making arrangements for a wedding or a funeral. Studying for a final exam or certification. It could be any moment that captured much of your attention, energy and emotional or financial resources.
And to this situation enter our word of the week: preparation.
Preparation is defined as the action or process of making something ready.
Preparation says everything about the HOW we show up for the life we want to live in the future. Preparation is anchored in hope-- there is something to come. And work is required to live into that hope!
Yet in practicality, preparation can feel like slugging through puzzle pieces in life that just don't make sense, and sometimes we're preparing for things we don't want to do experience but know we will have to go through (death or taxes anyone?).
Yet, here's preparations's gift: our mind, our body, our soul gets something to do in the in-between time. Preparation is the work that keeps the worries at bay because simply worrying gets us nowhere. Preparation is the HOW we add meaning to our daily routines.
But here's what you need to know about preparation, it doesn't come without risk. You could prepare for a new job you never get. You could plan a vacation you never take. You could lean into a new friendship and soon be disappointed. But the work is never in vain.
Yet, regardless of the outcome, preparation helps you know what matters to you most. Preparation helps keep you stay busy when your anxiety might otherwise overtake you. Preparation leads you to new adventures even if you don't get it right the first time.
So here's what I most want to tell you today: If you are longing for something, hoping for something or have an itch that something in your life needs to go in a new direction, start preparing.
Rearrange. Clean out. Redesign. Say no. Say yes. Apply. Take a nap.
You may not be where you want to be quite yet. (Are you really ever?) But you can live life in anticipation like it's coming. Prepare like it is.
Here's one more thing I truly believe: God is always preparing good things around us. The only question is will you do the work to join in?
Until next week-
XO
Elizabeth
I've heard it said that people of faith sure do love the impossible.
Cancer. Infertility. A freak accident. A family member in hospice. These life-shattering events make so many of us want to call on God and ask for the word of the week: miracle.
Miracle, defined as extremely outstanding or unusual event, is a word we associate with the BIG STUFF of our lives.
But does it have to be?
I want to flip the word miracle around just a minute. Have you ever thought about relationships as miracles?
Several years ago I made a friend with a child the same age. We spent a lot of time together and quickly became close. But fast forward 3 years... this friend and I talk occasionally, but not like we used to. In fact, as I see it now the fact that we were friends in the first place is: a miracle.
It was a miracle because at our core we have radically different world views and values.The more we got to know each other, the more we were the odd couple, but not in a good way. Me being my best self was offensive and vice versa. So much hurt bubbled up as we kept trying to connect as much as we wanted to. Our core, God-given priorities took us in different directions.
I have to tell you that it took me a long time to celebrate the miracle birthed between us-- the unusual event for a special period of time-- and not hold on to it longer than it was meant to be. Or to wonder about what went wrong.
Miracles can be moments, you see. Not everything lasts forever.
Likewise, in the miracle called resurrection, Jesus offers this to Mary who finds him at the tomb, "Don't hold on to me" (John 20:17). I've always been intrigued by these words of Jesus because at they seem harsh (and I don't like Jesus being harsh). Yet I think Jesus offers it as an invitation to the future.
When you put miracles in the right place in your life, you can move forward in the future. You can widen the circle. You can have hope even when prayers don't get answered as you wish.
So this week, start with this: give voice to a miracle or two in your life. Name it. Celebrate it. And then let it be.
God is always doing a new thing. Do you have eyes to see it?
XO
Elizabeth
P.S. I recently read the best book on the topic of miracles-- it tells the story of a woman's bizarre car accident, pain that lingered and how encounters with her limitations gave her a tender new beginning. I recommend Sarah Bessey's latest book which you can find here.
Are you struggling with knowing how to deal with #covid19?
Are you tired already of your kids being at home? Your spouse being at home? Being home alone?
Scared about the future?
Feel like you are mountain biking up a mountain (and you don't know how to mountain bike?)
To all of our heavy loads I bring a word of hope: persevere.
For it's true: we are being hit at every side.
We're shifting through mental anguish, physical exhaustion and social isolation. TOO, TOO MUCH.
In light of this, if I see one more motivational tweet about how I'm suppose to rise to my better self during these times: be more, do more, achieve more because the world needs leaders now more now more than ever -- I think I might scream.
We are all doing the best we can.
Without warning or time to prepare, so many of our lives were changed in an instant.
We have less resources for help or self-care.
Thriving is not a realistic goal. Yet, I want to tell you this today: persevering is.
One of my favorite scriptures comes from 2 Corinthians 4 which speaks to what perseverance looks like:
"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. . . . Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day."
Perseverance reminds us that even in the most difficult of circumstances we can be about the work of hope. Life is so much about both/ and.
I've heard from friends this week that they've loved doing yoga in the morning or dance parties before dinner or night caps with dear ones over the phone.
I've heard about friends meeting up over Facetime to play games.
I've been busy trying to create community for my church via Zoom and over on You Tube where we share our weekly worship services.
In my case, I've loved keeping up with friends over the app Marco Polo and taking a mental break alone in my room every afternoon when my daughter "naps." Even something as simple as sitting in the dark and taking a deep breath in the middle of the day has been a gift.
Reading Psalms before bedtime has given perspective too. There is truly nothing new under the sun.
Our family motto is "This is a marathon, not a sprint." And so, my friends, let us keep going.
What's one thing you can look forward to today or tomorrow? Sure, the big picture of all of this looks crazy but that's not the work your mind needs now.
My prayer for you right now is that you're able to keep showing up to whatever life-giving practices you need to make it from one day to the next. And give yourself grace when you have a hard day.
We're all going to have hard days (I had one yesterday!) and need to start all over in the morning. For, making it from morning to night and then doing it all over again is a beautiful accomplishment.
Really. I am so proud of all that you are doing.
Persevere on my friends! You've got this.
P.S. It's Holy Week- would you like some encouragement sent to your inbox the next couple of days specifically with these times in mind? Sign up here!
During the darkest days of our infertility journey, my prayers went like this: “How long O Lord? How long will you keep us childless?”
There’s not a lot of joy in this. Asking for the same thing over and over. Being stuck.
And as I was recently reading, Michelle Obama's new memoir, Becoming, she talks about this very pain in her own journey. Learning this about a very public figure is a good reminder that infertility is more common than we think.
So, no matter what we are waiting for, where do we find inspiration for our "stuck" times?
Simeon and Anna have become two of my waiting heroes in the Bible. Luke's account tells us that night and day both of these seniors devoted themselves to prayer and waiting for Jesus to arrive in the temple after his birth.
Simeon and Anna waited and waited. And they waited some more.
(If you want the full story, read Luke 2: 36-38).
Anna's entire purpose after her husband died was to be on this waiting journey—to be that prophetic voice that spoke the truth about baby Jesus who was yet to be born.
And then one day (gasp!) Jesus arrived at the temple with Mary and Joseph. Anna knew immediately! She spoke truth. Jesus was God’s Son. Her waiting was not in vain.
But, the longer I waited too, the more gifts the season of waiting gave.
I learned: who I am right now is ok.
I practiced: what I am doing right now is good (even if it not what I would have chosen).
For, no good waiting season is ever wasted time.
God is a mystery beyond all my understanding.
(And if you've met her, you can testify that this is true).
It's not because as many might think "I got what I always wanted."
Or I finally could feel at home in mom's circles.
Or because I could stop crying so much over my Christmas Eve sermons.
I rejoiced in motherhood as I bet Anna rejoiced over Jesus in the temple that day.
I am different kind of mother thanks to infertility. There's no small joy I take for granted. There's no milestone that I don't want to celebrate. There's no happy picture I can't wait to share with family and friends of the fun things we get into (sorry, friends, if I text you too often).
Adoption seemed too hard, too out of reach. Something we'd tried and had failed at too.
Well, until, it happened.
These days, I still look my daughter eyes with joy as she splashes in the bathtub, asks for more water before bedtime, or exclaims she wants to go to the playground yet again, and I thank God.
I thank God for the gift of growing up with her, learning from her and being HER mother.
My waiting season has brought me this joy.
I pray whatever it is that you're waiting on right now, you'll have the courage to keep waiting on joy too! Somehow, someway, it will come.
You won't be stuck forever.
When you find yourself stuck: what then?
Questions like these are ones that I've tried to teach through the past several years. I even did a email devotional series on this topic recently (which if you haven't checked out, learn more here).
And certainly they are the kind of questions that people seek my input on when I'm their pastor.
But proving the point that pastors or helping types are real people, such has been the quandary of my life over the past several months.
Stuck.
Can't seem to find my way to joy. Feeling overwhelmed and not able to do the tasks I really want to do. Disappointed in so many situations around me including those playing out in the news on a daily basis.
Weeks ago, the Senate confirmation hearings for our newest Supreme Court judge really did me in as I know they did for so many women around the country. I found myself sucked into the news that kept playing hope deflating bites.
To feel unheard, silenced or ignored is a dreadful feeling.
It probably doesn't matter to anyone other than me, but I haven't blogged like this in three months. That's like an eternity for "prolific me" as my friend Dana like to say. Writing is a sign of health and well-being if your name is Elizabeth Hagan.
Writing in a public space is a vulnerable task to take on. People are so quick to criticize. And though I've been doing it for years, it's still hard every single time especially now where we tear everyone a part seconds after they show up.
It's all so saddening to me. How afraid of vulnerability we have become! And empathy for another point of view seems to be out of the question.
Let me tell you this: as a mover and shaker and get things done yesterday, it's really terrible for this girl to feel stuck, maybe more than some of you (I'm an enneagram 3).
To pray to ask for help and feel like it's not coming fast enough. Or to realize that hope is present but it's crawling toward you at a snail's pace. Or to wonder when our petty political fights will ever end on Twitter.
Yet, in my personal stuck-ness I'm trying to:
Maybe you are practicing these things too.
I could end this post by sugar-coating it all, but I won't.
Children still are crying at our borders wanting to be re-united with their mothers.
Women are still in hiding because they fear no one will believe their stories of sexual assault.
Patriarchy still rules in our churches, board rooms and highest offices of power in the land.
Our black and brown brothers and sisters are being harassed daily on our streets by the police who are suppose to protect them, but don't.
I believe you need to be fully where you are if you want to fully go where's next.
So, I am here. We are here.
Worried. Disappointed. Sad.
Stuck.
Where are you?
Our National Infertility Week series continues today. (Did you miss the post from Chris Thomas earlier? If so, stop now and read it here). I'm so glad to introduce you to Maren McLean Persaud, my new favorite Canadian who tells a story of hope, longing and loss. Here are her beautiful words-
_______________
This past fall, we took all our hope, all our prayer, all our being, and all our money and invested it into the expensive and rigorous fertility treatment known as IVF (in vitro fertilization).
We had been trying to have a baby on our own for almost three years only to find out we had around a 1 to 4 percent chance of that ever happening. IVF was our only option if we wanted to have our own child.
If you have had personal experience with IVF, I don’t need to tell you anything and I salute you.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, IVF is a medical procedure that drains you emotionally, physically, and financially to “retrieve” your eggs and fertilize them with sperm from your partner, or a donor, to create viable embryos that can be put back into you to hopefully achieve a successful pregnancy and live birth.
The process involves a whole lot of needles, drugs, procedures, anxiously waiting for phone calls and embryo updates (spoiler: not all of them make it) and in the end, you might just end up with nothing to show for it.
So we did all that with the confident attitude that it would work, because, why wouldn’t it? We’re young!
And it did work! We got pregnant and even had one little embryo to tuck away in the freezer for a later date. What a great return on our investment.
Three days before Christmas, on our wedding anniversary, we floated into our fertility clinic for the 8-week ultrasound ready to hear the heart beat and successfully “graduate’ from the clinic.
Not even thirty seconds into the ultrasound our doctor said “I don’t have good news”.
After that it’s all a blur, but essentially our embryo was there and had grown, but there was no heartbeat. I would miscarry soon. That night I slept as though I was playing dead. No dreams, no restlessness, just darkness. The next morning, I woke up to myself sobbing, wishing I hadn’t woken up.
‘My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?’
My husband turned into our PR guy, messaging family and friends, letting them know what happened and canceling Advent/Christmas events we had planned to host in our home.
My family rushed in to spend Christmas at our house and they let us be the couch potato, tear-filled slobs we had turned into.
They cooked for us, cleaned for us, looked after us and although we had trouble recognizing it in the moment, brought a lot of light to our darkness.
My husband is a minister and in the days after our ultrasound he had to soldier through services that celebrated a special baby being brought into the world.
Being the bad minister’s wife that I am, I didn’t go to those celebrations with him.
The baby has always been my favorite part of the Christmas story. The fact that God chose to enter our world in that new and hopeful form so full of potential has always filled me with wonder and joy, but not this year.
‘Screw you and screw your baby, God!’
I wasn’t having any of it. How could I hear the ‘good news’ when only days before my Doctor told me there was no good news?
I was literally losing my baby as I rang in the new year.
In the days and weeks that followed I threw myself back into work, almost manically making plans and getting things done.
All the while I was haunted by the exact moment when we heard “I don’t have good news”. I would cry almost every night.
By February every night turned into once a week and by March there was even more space between these “episodes”.
With the Christmas story long behind me I felt like Lent was a good place for me at this point in my life. Focus on the depravity of the human condition while contemplating death on a cross? Yes! Let’s get sad, people!
Lent is coming to an end though and I can feel the tension building in my body as we inch closer to Easter. The Lenten focus on depravity of our sinful nature will turn into celebrating the Love God has for us and death on a cross will turn into resurrection. Ugh.
I’m not pregnant and am still grieving our loss, you expect me to sing Hallelujah soon? I feel like the Grinch, “I must stop Easter from coming, but how?”
Currently, there is hope in the little embryo we have tucked away at the clinic, waiting for us.
There is hope in how even though this experience tried to shred our marriage into tatters, my husband and I have become closer and more tightly knit than before.
There is hope in the stories of infertility and loss that others have personally shared with us; there is hope in that every time I see my psychologist I can honestly tell her I’m doing a “bit better” than last time we spoke.
But ultimately, there is hope because 2000 and some years ago God proved that there is no darkness where God isn’t with us. God will bring all things to a good end, and that is where our hope is.
I will reclaim the doctor's words: “I don’t have good news” and hope that the absence of Good News is not real.
I want to live a beautiful story of hope.
Maren McLean Persaud grew up in Nova Scotia, Canada and pursued her studies in music and theology at Mount Allison University and then Knox College, Toronto School of Theology. Most recently, she worked as Director of Camping Ministry for the Anglican Church in New Brunswick, where she currently lives with her husband, Christian. Prior to that, Maren worked as a ministry student intern in Alberta where she studied the ways that summer camp can teach the wider church to be more creative in community building and spiritual formation. Maren is most passionate about ministry with children and youth and incorporates her experiences in camping and her musical training into that work. She loves spending time outdoors, drinking her coffee black and laughing until she cries.
**If you are looking for another story of loss, hope and healing check out Birthed: Finding Grace Through Infertility wherever books are sold.***
What are you afraid to say?
I've been thinking a lot about the silence spaces that fill so many of our day-to-day conversations and relationships.
We converse with a loved one about something overflowing with authenticity. But then for a multitude of reasons, we don't speak of it again for years. An in between space.
A friend's flippant comment offends us. But there never seems to be time to really talk about it again. An in between space.
A family member shames us with words. But we don't feel the relationship is safe enough to enter the waters of reconciliation. An in between space.
Bottom line: for right or wrong, in so much of our lives, I believe we're afraid to speak. Our relationships get stuck. We accept the in between space as all we can do.
But at what cost? Joy? Peace? The contentment of living well?
I just finished Kate Bowler's new book, Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I've Loved-- a memoir about grief, cancer and dying that has recently hit the New York Times Best Seller list. It's full of beautiful prose. Prose I highly recommend to you.
One of the things that impressed me right away about Kate's experience of a terminal illness (a stage 4 cancer sentence nonetheless) was her crushing defiance of any space in between.
As soon as she heard that she had months to live (which has now turned into years thanks to a clinical trial), the bullshit games of her relationships ended.
Coming out of her first post-cancer diagnosis surgery, Kate describes sitting next to a beloved friend saying this:
"Oh my dear one, it's time. It's time to go. You can leave your career! . . If you stay a bitterness is going eat up everything I love about you."
I can imagine that Kate's directness would not have happened if it weren't for her reality. And, I can imagine sensitivity to her friend's feelings might have held her back. Fear would have gotten the last word.
But it didn't. The space in between the two friends vanished.
So today, I'm wondering this: what does it take for us to live brave like this?
How can you and I shatter the space in between the keeps us from dear ones in our lives? How can we have more conversations that matter?
I'm writing today not because I have an answer to my question. Only this insight:
It takes two people to tango.
Reconciliation. New beginnings. Truth-telling. All of these beautiful acts do not happen if two people aren't open and willing people don't show up. AND
Push through the fear.
Bring up the hard stuff.
Listen.
Be willing to say: "I'm wrong."
Make amends if needed.
Lean into love, the kind of love that is patient and kind.
And most of all, value RELATIONSHIPS over being right or doing what we want all of the time.
It's a commitment do our part before we give up.
In the end, I believe this is gospel work. Showing up like this is good news. Telling the truth is the good news. Abiding with people is the good news.
And it's work I know I'm called to do in this world filled so much fear, so many relationships that need mending. What about you?
____________________
P.S. If you are in the Washington, DC area and would like to get together with a group to discuss Everything Happens for a Reason, join us at The Palisades Community Church on March 14th at 7pm. Let me know you are coming and I'll reserve you a spot.
P.S.S. Are you on Instagram? Let's connect over there. @Elizabethhagan I can't wait to see your pictures.
Someone around you is grieving right now. Even if you don't know his or her name. Even if you don't know why. Even if you'll never know why. So many people grieve on overdrive at this time of year.
Recently, I was teaching at "Attending to the Grief We Don't See" workshop at a congregation and I encouraged them to pay attention to certain times of the year trigger grief.
We all agreed that a season that tops that list are the calendar days from Thanksgiving to New Years. Such was my experience for years as my husband, Kevin and I waited with hope that we'd be parents one day. For a couple expecting but not yet expecting a baby or who have recently lost a baby, Advent can be a miserable time. (As everything in the culture screams children and babies!)
And for others of us, we're weighed down heavy by--
Hearing our cancer has returned.
A bout of depression which isn't getting better.
A child diagnosed with a learning disability.
An aging parent given months to live.
Enduring a job search with dead-end after dead-end.
Family dynamics that are just weird.
While songs of “peace on earth, goodwill to men” and “joy the world, the Lord has come!” are blasted on the radio, the grieving among us experience December more like Holy Week than Advent.
That first Christmas without mom here . . .
That second Christmas of being a divorced dad sharing custody of your kids . . .
That third Christmas that your son is in jail . . .
And on and on it goes.
Yet, because it is the holiday season many of us want to be happy, regardless. We want to be able to put whatever is bothering us aside and rejoice as the scripture exhorts us too. We want joy—even as much as our life circumstances aren’t naturally joyful.
So how can we be joyful? Is it even possible for the grieving?
I would love to offer that joy is a formula that can be followed (as many preachers offer: Jesus first, Others second, and Yourself last).
I would love to suggest that joy is an emotion of the will that we can just pray harder to make happen.
Or, I would love to tell you if you "Sing one more Christmas carol or bake one more sheet of cookies, then joy of the Christmas spirit will find you!"
But I can't.
Maybe you’re better at joy than I . . . but it has been my experience that seeking joy in the midst of waiting does not come through formulas and cookies.
Waiting on joy has looked more like:
Crying until I’ve run out of tears.
Sitting among the rocks and dirt in my backyard.
Drinking too much wine.
Pulling myself out of bed, brush my teeth and go to work without clean socks believing I'm doing the best I can.
And I've done these things on repeat. Then when I've been lucky, others have come to sit with me and done these things with me.
Here is what I most want to tell you: as I've allowed myself to feel what I feel and been honest with others about it, a miracle has happened.
My spirit has began to move just a little. It moved toward hope—that the next day would be brighter than the one before.
It moved toward love—that someone needed me to notice their pain so getting out of bed was, in fact, a really great idea.
And finally it moved toward joy—that though sorrow lasts for the night, in the morning joy comes.
Such is what I'm hoping for you this holiday season.
Your joy might not be bright and showy. You may not be the one in the choir singing the carols loudly.
But you'll be hanging on because of your quiet strength. And you will get through because you're braver than you know.
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Did you know I wrote a book for Advent? Check out Seeing a Different World here.
Want to hear more of my grief story? Check out my spiritual memoir about my long season of infertility. You can buy it here.
Would you like me to come speak with your congregation or community group about sitting with grief during tough times? Contact me.
