Something is happening…
I went for a short walk the other day after an obstruction in my small intestine settled down. It had been a painful few weeks, hoping my ostomy would work and trying to avoid going to the ER. I have an ultrasound and a phone consult with my surgeon in early February to explore what happened.
The walk felt good, cautious not to slip, and the back alley had just enough crunchy snow that I could safely find my footing.
But it was bleak. No dramatic light or shadows. Plants stood alone, dried out and frozen. Everything was motionless.
But something is happening …
Loss and the dying of things/dreams/hopes/expectations must be a full season. It must be.
As an optimist, I tend to want to jump ahead, looking for brightness, life, hope, goodness.
However, as I wandered down the back alley and observed that everything was still in a season of loss, waiting… I was struck with the realization that seeing it, naming it, and letting it be a loss is necessary for hope.
Are you experiencing loss? Can you name it?
I named a few this week:
health
ability to eat solid food
pain/stronger meds again
unable to spend time with people I love
postponing my practicum
It’s hard for me to name these and admit that, for now, this is my reality.
I’ve had such a good year since my surgery, my health slowly increasing (not decreasing) in strength and energy. It’s been a rare season and one that I have been cherishing. So, it’s been frustrating and sad to imagine that perhaps that increase in health is done and that I’m facing complications again.
Allowing myself to name the losses and grieve them reminds me that they, like the plants, cannot provide any life or sustenance. No leaves are growing, no berries. They sit there, cold and dry.
But something is happening. It’s always happening.
“My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life.” Psalm 119:50
God has been reminding me that He is always at work. He is allowing seeds to drop to the ground, lying dormant for a season that will spring up into vibrant, new life when the snow melts.
This is the challenge I sense is for me, and maybe for you. Can we stay in our seasons, allowing them to be full? To complete the work that must happen, for new life to emerge. And if so, how do we do it?
Here are a few things I’m trying that may be helpful for you. I offer them with respect to your own stories.
Match my expectations to the season. (Instead of asking why the berries are not growing on the plants, assume they won’t yet, and put my energy into something else.) For me, this means collecting a stack of books (from the library, borrowing from friends), so that I have something enjoyable/interesting to do when pain or fatigue keeps me lying down.
Lean into the season. (Winter here in Alberta is cold, so instead of complaining, find ways to cope.) I bought hot chocolate mix the other day as another cozy hot drink to enjoy when I’m not able to eat solid food. Increase my options.
Feel the season. (My optimist heart wants to run away from sad feelings, but it’s good to stay put.) As I feel sad or impatient, and as others around me express similar things, I’m practicing staying still, acknowledging with them that life is hard. Feel it, stay in it, no running away.
Be curious. (The plants know that their story is not over. They know they will spring back to life soon.) What is coming? What is next? If this is a season of stillness, quietness, less-activity, what will grow from it?
May God comfort our hearts, calm our minds, strengthen our bodies and renew the life in our souls as we rely on Him.
Whatever season you are in, something is happening!
(This is the same back alley when the snow melts!)