Joy. Sadness.
I haven't blogged in a couple months. Haven't really felt the inspiration to. Recently though, I heard a speaker talk about these two feelings coexisting in a person after experiencing some form of loss. It's not just a possibility, but a reality for many. Anyone who, I believe, has an eternal perspective and has experienced loss, very well may be caught in this paradoxical position of plight. To narrow this down to a personal note, losing Josh this year has brought me great sadness, especially during more recent moments around the holidays, when family gatherings are emphasized and brought to the forefront.
However, weaved into these dark threads, joy exists also, swirling around those moments of sadness so much so that from one thought to the next there can be completely opposite feelings. Fond memories like baking an apple pie with my brother can be coupled with driving him to the hospital in writhing pain. Sharing a sweet moment with him last year on my front porch in Denver can then switch to a flash of a hospital room and breathing machines. I can be filled with joy while worshiping in church, and the next moment remember being in the same building on the day of Josh's funeral.
I have to allow myself to feel the joy with the sadness. It's essential. It's healthy. It's something that my friend suggests, should be cherished. I can't feel bad about experiencing moments of happiness and laughter these days; that's the joy and the hope that my Savior brings me. In the same way, my Father also allows me to go into those dark places of sadness, longing for what was lost, the void that now exists, the pain that comes with searing loss. Four and a half months later, and there are moments when it feels like yesterday he was still here, talking to me about the multiple benefits of drinking goats milk. Or World War II strategies. Or the upgrades he wanted to do to his car. I want to remember, I want to feel it. I want to feel like there is something missing, because there is, and there always will be this side of Heaven.
It is interesting because I am no longer sad for Josh. I was sad for him when he was alive. Now I am sad for those of us left behind. Those of us who muddle on through this imperfect life, until our time comes to be taken Home. Josh has it so good; he has not a care in the world. It is all of us here, on Earth, who I wish could be enjoying what Josh is enjoying. For him, all has been made new. For him, there is no more pain, or sorrow, or sadness (Rev 21). Only joy.
My hope for us is that we would acknowledge and recognize the intermingling of joy and sadness that can and will coexist in our hearts after experiencing loss. That we would choose to welcome both of their visits, allow them to stay as long as they like, and concede to both affecting us in a way that gives us more of a glimpse into the fullness of humanity and our Father's heart for us all.
