The winter of my faith

I had some crazy dreams that life would be different, in a good way, after grad school was completed. No doubt, there have been some good things. No more nights spent in class and free time taken up by homework and internships. It seems though in other ways that life came crashing down around me, making it hard to catch my breath. I have to say, I am incredibly grateful that over the last year I seem to have outgrown the emotional and spiritual meltdowns that often occurred before. An embarrassing experience to constantly call into question the love of my Savior, over truly trivial things. My needs are met, more often more abundantly than I could ever imagine. So while this winter has meant several dreams are hibernating, much like the ground outside is covered in snow, I am confident that with the spring, the changes we are hoping for will happen for us, much like the landscape bursts into bloom with the spring.

I have also faced another chapter in one of the most challenging experiences of my adult life. What to do with the loss of a child, when it is wanted more than anything else in the world, loved with a constant, confident love, and prayed for without ceasing. The most recent chapter isn't mine to share, and so I won't be discussing it here, at all. I have had to revisit my own precious losses though, and in remembering my own losses, I haven't found an answer I like, believe or understand. I suspect that I have a choice and have the chance to maybe, someday be wiser. As I meditate on my choices this concept of joy and sorrow flutters at the edge of my consciousness. I am not sure I am ready to invite it in yet:

"Joy is hidden in sorrow and sorrow in joy. If we try to avoid sorrow at any costs, we may never taste joy, and if we are suspicious of ecstasy, agony can never reach us either. Joy and sorrow are the parents of our spiritual growth." Henri Nouwen


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