Sunshine and Shadows

Just when I think I'm doing better, something strikes me. I'll call it a shadow -- and all of a sudden, I'm not so okay. I'm weepy. I'm broken. I feel like I did a year ago ... caught in a shadow. Today, I couldn't get a jar lid off by myself and it almost made me cry. Good grief -- I was feeling sorry for myself because I don't have a really big and really strong man at my beck and call to exhibit his manliness by coming to my rescue. Neither, of course, to sit down beside me to share a much-appreciated meal of homemade soup that I labored to create. One thing leads to another. Stubborn jar lid --> Nobody here with whom to share my lunch --> Sorrow. Shadow. (And I worked up a sweat and strained my wrist getting that lid off, too. Ridiculous.)

It is true that I spend more and more time in the light than the dark these days. I laugh more than I did just a few months ago. I have a litte more energy for things that I used to enjoy from time to time -- or at least enough to consider doing things that I used to do. That's an improvement from total dismissal of the idea of pulling a weed or washing a pair of dusty curtains. Last winter I was tired of the extra weight I had put on, so I started running -- employing an enormous store of mental will. After losing absolutely no weight and with the progression of spring into a very hot summer, I quit running. Though I do walk with a few friends here and there, yesterday I decided to grab my iPod with my hip playlists and go out for a walk -- and some running -- all alone. It was an extraordinary day -- lots of sunshine, a sweet breeze, and an abundance of dancing shadows. I was born in the autumn and it really is my favorite time of year. I feel like new life is breathed into me when the temperatures drop and the blue of the sky deepens when unhindered by the hazy filter of summer heat. I can smell the fragrance of pine and harvest -- fresh and clean. And there are no pesky insects buzzing around me or cuffing me in the face when I'm running. It's so freeing.

A song by Switchfoot came on in my earbuds -- "Sunshine, won't you be my mother? Sunshine, come and help me sing. My heart is darker than these oceans. My heart is frozen underneath." I looked up at that brilliant sun -- and knew I had no mama. My heart has been dark lots of times in my life. I stopped and prayed that it wasn't frozen deep down inside of me. I wonder if it really is. Is my heart frozen? The song went on ... "We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight, dry eyes in the pouring rain. The shadow proves the sunshine." Hmmmm. Crooked souls? I think that means we're human -- not divine. I make so many mistakes as a human, I guess I could playfully consider myself to be crooked. Actually, I kind of like that.

The dry eyes part I really get. At some point I pretty much stopped crying altogether. I don't mean momentary, occasional tears -- of frustration in a futile attempt to remove a jar lid -- when singing the last phrase to "What Wonderous Love is This?" -- or when a harrowing memory comes crashing into my present. I mean really crying. Yeh ... I don't do that anymore. David wrote about tears -- and having no time for them.

And then the lyrics that clinched it all: "Oh Lord, why did you forsake me? Oh Lord, don't be far away away. Storm clouds gathering beside me. Please Lord, don't look the other way." Though I try not to think or feel like this, sometimes it's simply inevitable -- again, human. Another David cried these same words -- and Jesus quoted them on the cross (Psalm 22). When we feel separated from the loving mercy of God, it really does feel like He's forsaken us -- like He's looking away -- not counting the hairs on our heads. Of course, I think my own sorrow causes ME to be the one to look away. For some souls, tragedy -- sorrow and loss -- can be enough to cause them to completely reject God. They become trapped in the mire of the shadows and miss-out on the breathtaking awareness that if there were no shadows, the sunlight would be a gift never fully realized. The shadow proves the sunshine. When we come out the other side of darkness into the radiance of surviving that very long night, we are renewed creatures. We are the objects of illuminating mercy, love and healing that can only be of God. So why, then, do we sometimes abandon God?

So as I caught a glimpse of my image cast as a shadow on a quiet country road, I understood that my moments in the shadows, though they are less and less frequent, allow me to welcome the lovliness of the sunlight -- the brighter days that I have been living the last few months. I actually embrace those dark moments. I allow myself to really attend to whatever sorrow or regret that enters my consciousness because it's all part of the process. All of my life's experiences make-up who I am -- through the perpetual forming and reforming of me. I hope I am becoming a little less crooked and a little more holy. I mean, that's the goal, right? Sanctification ... "Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."  Perhaps my heart is not "frozen beneath dark oceans." "Shine on me!"

If I've learning nothing else through the wisdom and faith of my husband, another writer of Psalms of sorts, I've learned to love this life that is mine -- right here and right now. He wrote a lot about the plethora of more fruitful things to do in our borrowed time here than to bemoan our time spent in the shadows. And he truly lived each moment of each day in a state of heightened awareness of the gift of time and breath -- but he never knew the loss that I have known. Because of that, sometimes I eschew his words. I wonder if the tables had been turned -- if it had been me instead of him -- would his words have taken on a different imperative? I hope he would have grieved my death at least a little more than what he suggested ... In fact, I think I disagree with him on this one. I've had a lot of experience with such stuff and I've come to peace with my responses. I think I'm doing okay ... though it may be time for a good, cleansing cry.

No Time for Tears, david m. bailey
well of course it is a sad thing when a parent outlives a child
when a child loses a father because the sickness has gone wild
the pain can be relentless in the shadow of our fear
as the hours become more golden, we got no time for tears

we got time for making music, time for making love
time to think about all the things you're dreaming of
time for mending fences with friends both far and near
but baby this time around, we got no time for tears

well of course it is a sad thing
to think about your death
no one can imagine taking their last breath
so as the dark surrounds you, one thing must be clear
with every passing moment, we got no time for tears