The Sad Things

Life is an odd balance for me these days it seems.

On one side of the scale there is the weighty gratitude of joy for oh so many wonders! 

• For three months in Thailand and all that such a sabbatical so lavishly afforded me.
• For the simple freedom of being able to drive myself around in my world again.
• For the honest, persistent way Highview is being 'the church' right now, both within our own community, and also out in the community that surrounds us.
• For the gift of being allowed to serve with these astonishing people called Highview, in a role that I never set out to 'attain' but which will likely always be one of the biggest surprises of my life.
• For the gift of being allowed to have a 'job' that reflects my life's passions.
• For new things on the horizon that hold promise and excitement and challenge; truly a gift for anyone fast approaching 60.

And these and more are strong and true and big and happy.  And they are the stuff that makes for good postings, and the substance upon which to focus and ponder in the waking moments of each day.  Mostly, I'd rather talk about these things, press into these things, dwell on these things.  And I do.

But there's another side of the scale; the weighty ponderings of sorrow for oh so many woes!

Because life is also hard.  Mine is at least.  And it's hard right now largely because right now it's hard for others I love.  And perhaps there's an added weight to this other side of the scale because of the privy I have into the deeper corners of people's lives sometimes.  Some of the hard stuff is more or less out there, and we're sharing it together, walking it together in community.  But some of it is private, and rightly so.

And it turns out that right now it seems I know a lot of sad stuff.  And a lot of it is the kind of stuff that pushes you to the very edge of yourself, the kind of life experiences that force you to find out what you're made of.  Crazy-making kinds of things.  Heart-smashing kinds of things.
"Jep jai", in Thai.  Painful heart.  More than any soul left alone could bear, actually.

I think this is why I have felt a strong pull to be at home today.  I have errands to run, and I did get at some earlier this morning.  But just now, when I went to get back into the car to finish my list, I was held back, quite strongly.  The sense of it made me sit in the van for as much as five minutes, just listening to what my soul needed for the afternoon.  And in the end, I don't think it was to be out running around.  I needed to stay at home and pay attention to the sad things.

This may or may not involve weeping.  It may or may not involve a nap.  As I write, the afternoon is yet unfolding, so I'm not quite sure still what I am to do with this sadness. So far, it has involved putting on a fire to ward off the last of winter's stubborn struggle for dominance; a metaphor no doubt for the light and warmth of honest faith to balance out the sad coldness.   It has involved quiet, which has become the needed space to lay the sadness out so it can get some air and not become foul and moldy in my soul.

That's the odd part.  Because I feel the sad and I feel the happy pretty much about the same right now. There's a back and forth to this; a both/and, not either/or.   Both real.  Both strong.  Both true.

And on either side of the scale His presence is palpable.
That's the thing.   
With me.
There is no loneliness in this sadness, or in this joy.
Not at all.