Morning

It was another hard week, but it was sprinkled with sparkles of light. Friends who reached out to me. Time spent with people who love me. The sunlight coming in my windows. A few hours spent painting. 

Yesterday I went to church for the first time in about a month. It is so hard to be there, and I can't quite understand why. But I went anyway - snuck in 5 minutes late and left the instant the benediction was spoken so I didn't have to talk to anyone, answer a million questions, bear the sympathetic looks even though they also comfort me. 

Yesterday I was once again challenged by the idea of being Christ's light, of sharing His Good News, of living the joyous life while my heart is totally broken. What does that even mean? And how are we supposed to accomplish that? While sitting in my chair, tears welling in my eyes at the impossibility of what it feels is being asked of me, of the balance between wanting to shine Christ's love and joy and peace, but also wanting to live an authentic, truthful life, I was so clearly reminded of the verses that say:

There's a season for everything and a time for every matter under the heavens:

a time for giving birth and a time for dying, 
a time for killing and a time for healing, 
a time for crying and a time for laughing, 
a time for mourning and a time for dancing, 
a time for embracing and a time for avoiding embraces, 
a time for searching and a time for losing, 
a time for tearing and a time for repairing, 
a time for keeping silent and a time for speaking...

A sense of relief and peace filled me. Now is my time to mourn, to cry, to be sad, to keep silent when I have no words. Now is my time to speak that truth, to be honest when I'm having bad days, to allow others to know I'm hurting. 

And within that will come times of peace and hope, times when I feel God my Father holding me and comforting me. And as I heal I can tell that story, too. 

This morning, sunlight poured into my windows, steam rose from my coffee, and a quote from a favorite movie came to my mind. I'll paraphrase it here:

And this morning I think he might be able to use that aching arm one more time to push the sun back up in the sky and give me one more day of hope.

My Jesus, with his aching arms stretched out on that cross - those arms that were embracing all my sorrows and all my pain, all my losses and those I have lost, those arms that hold me tightly even when I am writhing in pain - those arms push the sun into the sky and allow my eyes to see the sun as it fills my house and my heart.