One Year Later
This time last year ... exactly this time last year, I didn't see the sun.
I can't remember it shining, even now, unless I force my mind to realize, that logically, it must have. The sun must have been shining almost every day as my heart hemorrhaged.
The days bled into one another like the soggy mascara I eventually gave up on.
I bit at my lip and pulled at my hair as I tried desperately to fix my eyes on truth; tried desperately not to let everything be pulled into and tainted by my sorrow.
The sun is shining now and I wrestle with it.
This shining has significant implications. I have to admit, the sun must have been shining then, too.
If it sounds like my mind is spinning in circles, I apologize. It is.
My heart aches as I let my memories of a year ago resurface. The series of events that felt like a thousand good things withering away in my hands.
I let go of dreams, let go of plans, let go of hands I thought were mine to hold forever.
My pastor said something today ... "It seems scarier to hope for the second time than it is to hope for the first time."
I was petrified to hope in the first place.
But I don't want to close myself off [anymore. I must allow that I have quietly closed myself off in many ways this past year.]
In order to open up to the reality of the Lord's presence in this moment, though, I have to open my eyes to His presence in every hard moment of my past - including, and maybe even especially, last year.
The sun was shining. There was light in that darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. No, the light shines still.
One of my favorite songs (by Steffany Gretzinger) repeats over and over, these same words:
"Open up, let the light in."