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This time of year has me reflecting on repentance and forgiveness, of atonement and sacrifice, of relationships and unresolved feelings. The work never seems to end.
Sometimes this reflection leads to a stir of old wounds, a picking at the healing scabs, and I can feel my heart close up, my shoulders rise up with anxious thoughts.
What if this happens again?
Can I ever trust them again?
Will they hurt me again?
And the “again” questions pile up. There’s no room left for joy in my broken apart heart. There’s only room for ugly wounds, unforgotten hurt, and fear, and fear is ugly and chokes out goodness. But how can I possibly enjoy today when I don’t know what horror will besiege me tomorrow?
I’ve spent time talking this over with my therapist. God bless her. I get stuck. My thoughts get stuck. My heart gets stuck so deep in the muck I need a tow truck to pull me out. Her quiet, thoughtful questions force me to assess my situation, counting the cost of my emotional withdrawal from the ones I love. How much am I willing to sacrifice in order to keep on my deceptively comfortable cloak of fear?
My favorite poet, Mary Oliver, once wrote, “If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give into it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. That’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”
I like this idea and I want to play with it, try it. Can I fight the fear of what’s to come and sit present, not questioning or anticipating, but trusting I will be ok?
Yesterday I found this….Breanne Rodgers wrote:
September 1st • I’m not ready. Autumn used to be my favorite season. That was before mental illness overtook me in the Winter of 2016. I’ve walked with a limp and one eye over my shoulder ever since. Healed but not whole. Hopeful but still hurting. • I want to fully immerse in the splendor of Fall, but Winter waits like a sharp-shouldered vulture, circling, circling. Her cold will swoop in and silence life eventually. That truth is hard to bear. • And yet, perhaps when God placed in Psalm 23:5 the words: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;” He was also thinking of that time of year when the trees don their bravest, boldest colors to face the Temporal Death. • Even though Winter looks on from afar, the golden tablecloth will still ripple across the wood grain. That familiar, rich cinnamon-ny taste will warm my senses. All the flaky, butter-colored textures will be placed before me to take and enjoy. “That table of food gave Minny the strength she needed.” (The Help). “Come, sit and rest.” I hear Him say. The Grand Harvest Feast is being prepared and I’ve been invited. May I partake and be made brave in my Jesus for the days ahead.
Clearly she’s fighting the same battle. I’m not alone in this.
The Father’s Fall Feasts are just around the corner and I will walk bravely into the weeks to come for He goes before me, preparing my place at the table, and, if I will allow Him, he’ll prepare my heart too. No longer the fear-full, broken apart heart, but the broken open heart to be filled with His good gifts. For He is good and merciful, generous and full of love.
Matthew 6:35 Don’t worry about tomorrow — tomorrow will worry about itself!
“Joy is not made to be a crumb.”