I started off quarantine throwing a
tantrum. Not quite literally, but internally kicking and screaming
that the vacation I was so looking forward to was no longer possible,
that concentrated time with friends was lost, very possibly never to
happen in that way again, and the time of rest and refreshment gone.
Feeling like I've experienced loss after loss, and this was just
another. So much, “Why, God?? This isn't fair! When do I get a
break?!” Knowing that I should surrender, trust that God knows and
sees me, but feeling utterly powerless to get to that point myself.
This is a season of being out of
control. And in the face of that, some pretty ugly things surface.
Resentment. Self-pity. Lashing out at others (in my subtle,
manipulative way, Enneatype 1 way, because outright anger is not
appropriate, of course...). Maybe you're all perfectly accepting of
what currently is. Could be, but somehow I doubt it. :) Loss of
certain identities – in work, in relationships, in purpose. Loss of
surface desires – the things you were really looking forward to.
And the challenges that this season creates: loss of structure and
routine to days, zoom after zoom meeting and trying to have
connection online, maybe for you having kids home all day or suddenly
finding yourself without work.
In this season it's helped me to
recognize that this is a grief process: to see how I've gone through
stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. The
denial disappeared fairly quickly, to be left with days upon days of
anger and then some depression. In pieces I've come to the acceptance
and surrender; a couple others still in some former stage. I'm still
feeling some resistance, although the screaming 2 year old isn't
quite as loud. She's settled down, maybe pouting a bit. But I'm
recognizing some pretty significant gifts: yard to sit in and play
with Maggie (or watch her joy) where I don't have to wear a mask. A
family upstairs that welcomes me in. As much as I resisted moving
from my former flat, God knew what he was doing for this season. Even
morning walks with Maggie up the hill and across the field – a
space of quietness and stillness and peace in a world that hasn't yet
arisen and emerged.
But in the remaining resistance – the
continued pain, the long-term unmet desires - I recognize the
temptation to feel shame, that “I just need to let go and
trust God.” But how does one do that? I sit with it, longing for
God to meet me in it. Asking him to do the transformation while I
wait, because there really is nothing I can do on my own. I can't
force it. I need his hope, his joy.
Jesus, as Hebrews describes, for the
joy set before him endured the cross. This Holy Week, as I reflect on
that, I've been challenged. For the joy set before him. The joy was
partly me. Partly you. And yet for myself, I don't see the joy set
before me. Is it only for heaven, for the joy there? I want to
believe it's even here, even on earth. Maybe it's not a fulfillment
of my physical desires. But can it at least be him meeting those
deeper, eternal desires: for connection, to be seen and known, to
have a place to belong? I travel the path of Jesus with him this
week, feeling the losses, the pain. Longing for God to be there with
me, to even remove the cup. I don't want to experience the
forsaken-ness. Mostly, this week I long to know the joy set before me
on this earth. At the least, to know what God wants to speak into me
in it. To know pieces of the resurrection life on the other side of
the walk toward death.
As I was out walking this week, I
noticed spring emerging. White flowering trees bring some color to
the landscape. Buds starting to emerge on trees. The earth is being
resurrected, though in general the world can't be out to experience
it. But it happens regardless of our ability to experience it, take
it in visually. It will continue to bring forth new life.
That's my hope and prayer for myself
and for all of us in this season: that whether or not I am
experiencing the new life, to be able to hold on to the undeniable
fact that it still happens. Maybe it takes more to notice right now.
Maybe not – maybe you suddenly HAVE the space to notice.
Regardless, it's there and I don't want it to pass me by. Though this
Easter weekend looks vastly different than any any other I've
celebrated, maybe there's something simple and sacred in it,
something precious waiting to be noticed in this stripped away
version of the resurrection celebration. A piece of joy set before me.
God is bringing about resurrection
life. How am I and how are you posturing yourself to see it and
receive it?
