What do you see?
I see an ugly, bare, tree with roots that start in a dry place but, apparently, have somehow reached enough water to stay alive. It peers toward a vast, fertile landscape of life and longs for leaves again. Its branches are crooked and unappealing. In fact, it hardly has the "typical" shape of a tree at all. It is alone yet hopeful for the evidence of life that will reappear in time. The tree lacks joy and its passions have drained. The tree is me.
Then I see a sunset of extravagant colors. The hues bounce off the water and reflect in every direction, even in the darkness. The rays of light seem focused on the tree even though the tree doesn't absorb its shades. The water rejoices while the land mourns the full light of day. The tree mourns what it used to be, what it dreamed it would be. But the sunset screams, "Look at my love! Look at my passion! It is toward you, a seemingly barren tree." The sunset is God.
I feel like that tree. Naked, lifeless, alone. My feelings and truth are certainly not one and the same, and I know the Lord is forever with me. A counselor mentioned to me once though, "You need to allow yourself to feel the way you feel, because God gives us feelings to help us heal." Or something like that. Well, gosh darn it, wouldn't you know? I think the lady actually knew a thing or two. Go figure. Because I want to yell at the top of my lungs over this crappy year, and the thought of doing it gives me release. Standing next to this tree and screaming out my frustrations would at least make me feel passionate about something again.
But I am 32. That's about right on time for a midlife crisis, eh? Some people need cars, houses, and other things, but apparently I need to stand next to this horrid tree and share a hypothetical drink or two. What. On. Earth.
Yet I see, hear, and feel God crying out to me, "I am here! Don't give up. Look at what my love has done. You are mine. Will you be my beloved again?" I want to be, He knows it's true. He puts the spotlight of His providence and salvation on me and works for His glory even though I can't fully reflect His beauty. My heart reaches for the life I once had, but I can't go back there. I'm not that person anymore. Growth through seasons is hard, and painful, and it makes even the strongest person question, "How much longer, Lord? How much longer must I endure?" I would do anything to feel alive again. I would do anything to revisit naivety again, to have the luxury of ignorance again.
I say all this not to offer a solution, but, rather, to offer hope. Because there is hope. The Christmas season displays that to us beautifully. So I cling to the knowledge of hope even when I don't feel it. And I will do my best to bask in His light when I feel absorbed by the darkness. Sorrow is real, but so is healing. I pray that not only I, but you and yours, will receive the healing you need right now. Until then I say, "I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth." (Psalm 121:1-2) And while I succumb to so many feelings, the biggest feeling of all is that my Rescuer is racing toward me at lightning bolt speed. So, that's the one I'll cling to.
