I’ve entered a quiet season – a season where words seem to be more difficult to find. It’s not just on this blog; I can’t even seem to find the words to write in my journal, which is usually full. The last several weeks for many, many days I’ve managed to simply write the date and Father God, before just staring into space or dissolving into tears or falling asleep.
I like my job a whole lot and I seem to be finding a rhythm in that, or at least beginning to accept the lack of rhythm as normal and moving on and pursuing excellence and learning everything that I can. So that piece seems to be doing okay.
It’s everything else that’s just out of whack.
It’s incredible how I can be surrounded by 400 other people in a small, confined area but feel desperately lonely.
And when the cry of my heart is to be a good friend but it seems relationships are falling apart all around me and I’m faced with the reality that I really must not be a good friend… that’s devastating.
And when I’ve been completely obedient to what I believe with all my heart is a directive from God but all I’ve experienced on the other end is heartache… that hurts.
On my door right now is written, “Fight for joy, fight for freedom.” – I need that reminder. Joy is worth fighting for, and it’s opposed. Someone asked me a few days ago, what exactly does that look like for me, now, in this place, at this time...
It looks like getting out of bed this morning when everything in me wanted to hide away with my self pity and contempt. It looks like going to the beach because, really, I know I will never regret going to the beach, but I will regret staying in bed all day with only my depression to keep me company.
It looks like eating dinner with someone, a stranger or a friend, when everything in me wants to skip the meal and the huge room which transports me back to junior high and that desperation of everyone having friends to sit with except me.
It looks like picking up the $1 joys - like teaching a friend how to ‘properly’ break into a Ritter bar, saying yes to the little one wanting to be carried to the car, or the surprise donation that will help fund a Christmas getaway.
It looks like trusting and believing regardless of what I can see or feel, because that which I can see and feel is only temporary, but that which I believe and trust is eternal. And in Him that I trust lies the fullness of joy. And that’s worth fighting for.