When Darkness Lifts

I’ve been down physically this month, more than normal. Today is the first day I have felt like my normal self. Despite the physical limitations, I have been able to enjoy my family during their winter break and all of our holiday festivities, including celebrating Kali’s seventh birthday.

I have thought of family and friends who struggle on a regular basis with physical disabilities and chronic pain. I have thought of people who have buried one or both parents. I thought about those who have buried their child or multiple children. I relived finding my sister after she passed away and got swallowed up in feeling overwhelmed that I would never again see her beautiful face on this side of heaven. I have grieved again lost friendships near and far. And I prayed that the darkness I felt surrounding all of these encounters would at least take me to the light.

Like I said, today is the first day I have felt like my normal self. In this normal space, there is much light. Sure, darkness lingers around the edges, but I’m not consumed with darkness, nor am I overwhelmed by it. It’s crazy how when the physical body aches or breaks down, one’s mind and spirit can become unsettled. And even unsettled to the point of complete darkness. The question I asked was, “How much darkness must I endure before I return to the light?”

Kenny reminded us at church during the third Sunday of Advent that joy comes in the morning, but we don’t know which morning. This thought gripped me. I love going to bed at night because the mornings have always been a fresh start for me, but when you are sick or have a muscle strain or a migraine, the morning may bring awareness to the ailments all over again.

This morning, I returned to the light. In the light, I want to get up, get out, help others, sit in silence, listen to the stories of others, show compassion, offer encouraging words, plan for the future, enjoy the present moment, love big, and glean from the past.

This morning, I did all of that! And I hope tomorrow that I can do all of that again. If not, I will wait for the light, even if it means sitting in dark places until the light comes.

For those who sit in darkness often, you are experiencing a grace that others can’t bear. You are special. May light shine in your darkest moments, and may you trust the light to be with you always, even when you can’t see it.