Posted in Faith

19 Weeks of Darkness

19 weeks.

The time between our clocks “falling back” to “springing ahead.”

19 weeks.

DARKNESS comes earlier and there is almost a collective “OH NO” heard in the air.

19 weeks.

The apprehension of depression looms large in the hearts of those who struggle already and general melancholy arises in those who don’t.

19 weeks.

The warning of COVID numbers and “a whole lot of hurt” to come sends us wanting to pull the covers over our heads and make it stop.  STOP.  STOP.  STOP.  As if the winter DARKNESS is not bad enough.

19 weeks.

The election and the fall out either way.  Fear creeps into our minds and our stressed bodies are unable to hide it.

The “Holidays.”  Trepidation on how to navigate the risks and rewards of seeing family and friends makes this one of the most confusing seasons ever.

New Years.  No watching the ball drop with Times Square revelers and the dread that 2021 won’t be the end of all that 2020 has brought to us.

MLK Day.  The usual day of hope has an underpinning of tension as we understand that there is still SO much work to do.

Valentines Day.  We wonder.  Cute little candy hearts and cupids just don’t cut it anymore.  There’s real pain out there.  Real pain.

DARKNESS for sure.  And not just the literal kind.

19 weeks.

A womb of sorts.

A cocoon of sorts.

A tomb of sorts.

The unknown and all the possible things that could go wrong.  DARKNESS.

19 weeks.

But what happens IN the womb? The cocoon? The tomb?

Not after.  Not when it’s over.  Not when we see crocuses and robins and longer days.

But IN?  IN the DARKNESS?

There is CREATION in the womb.
Of a whole new life.

There is TRANSFORMATION in the cocoon.
Of a whole different being.

There is REDEMPTION in the tomb.
Of a whole only-God-can-do-this kind.

Gifts.  Beautiful gifts.

Gifts that could not come any other way.

19 weeks.

There will be DARKNESS for sure.

But there will also be HOPE.

Posted in Faith, Grief, Sabbath

What Do We Do With the Space In Between??

Now Mary Magdalene and another Mary kept vigil there, seated opposite the tomb. Matthew 27:61
It’s not Good Friday.
It’s not Easter Sunday.
It’s just Saturday. The space in between.
What do we do when…
We’ve lost our job AND don’t have a glimmer of the next?
Our kids are grown AND our hearts wonder what comes after?
We’ve gotten the diagnosis AND there’s still no “good course of action” from our doctor?
Our marriage is over AND we don’t know if we’ll ever be truly loved?
We’ve filed for bankruptcy AND we still can’t give up our life’s dream?
We’re sequestered at home AND we have no idea when this pandemic will truly end and we will be safe to venture out?
Our Savior is dead AND it’s still Saturday.
What do we do with the space in between?
WE GRIEVE, whether wailing out loud or whimpering into our pillow
WE QUESTION, possibly shouting to the sky or shushing our inmost fears and doubts
WE SIT SILENT, perhaps eyes wet with tears or as a stunned bird gathering strength
WE WAIT, living the tension of the known past but the unknown future
WE WATCH, expectantly yet with trepidation
and mostly…
WE HOPE, for we long to believe that what lies ahead is somehow richer because of what lies behind
WE HOPE in this place of rest. SHABBAT.
WE HOPE in this place of peace. SHALOM.
Yes. It’s just Saturday…still Saturday! The space in between.
Hear this my soul, my friend: REST In PEACE today!
SHABBAT SHALOM!