The Darkness and The Light: Thoughts on Faith During a Difficult Year

The Darkness

One Sunday late last month, I did something I never do. I sent my husband and sons to church without me.

We normally go as a four-person family unit, and every third Sunday, the boys and I make the trek alone as my husband works. But it’s something we do as a family, because while faith is personal, family time is always a priority for us. Especially on weekends.

The problem with faith being personal but prioritizing family time is that sometimes they rub together in all the wrong ways.

During my awkward middle school years, my parents changed churches. An introvert with undiagnosed anxiety and previously mentioned awkward going on like whoa, I didn’t really like change. Sitting in service felt easy enough, but I didn’t feel comfortable attending Sunday School with kids I didn’t know very well.

This ended in a fairly dramatic stomping and shouting match in the church’s parking lot.

I lost. I went to Sunday School.

Sometimes going to church feels too hard. For a million reasons. For no reason. For unknown but deeply felt reasons.

Sometimes it’s hard to just get up. It’s hard to get the kids fed and dressed and out the door all while knowing your active parenting is required as you sit in pews where they’re expected to be quiet, to sit still, to listen to things that are somewhat above their understanding and definitely above their life experience—things that feel above your understanding and life experience as well. In those early days, trying to nurse while sitting in the back of the sanctuary, exhaustion sitting heavy on shoulders and eyelids, made attending with small babies feel impossible.

While I mostly wanted just one day during the week to sleep in, to lounge about, I still made sure we went regularly. I craved the community, even if community looks different in my introverted ways than it does to some of my extroverted counterparts. I needed the quiet space, the holy feeling of silence in that moment we join together in silent prayer. I always prayed, continue to pray that I might carry that feeling throughout the week when life weighs me down, when things feel like they’re too much. Often times I lose the feeling before we’re out of the parking lot, but I work toward it.

I lost that precious, needed feeling in early November.

The fallout from a year of difficulty, of loss, of grief and grieving and mourning, of deep, unending sadness left me feeling completely lost and alone. I wasn’t alone, but the dark shroud of depression makes it difficult to see things and people clearly. In fact, depression makes it even harder to see, feel, or hear the invisible presence of God.

Seemingly alone in my hour of darkness, I felt hurt and angry. I felt betrayed by a God who was supposed to be with me in all things.

And so, as things began to improve, as the darkness began to show signs of light on the horizon, I still felt angry with God.

I still do.

But that morning when I sent the boys off to church with my husband and went for a run in blissful silence, I felt more alone than even earlier in the month. Perhaps I felt that way because I could once again see people who cared, who wanted to be present with me in my hardest of times. Or maybe it’s because that morning, I chose the loneliness. I sent them off, knowing my husband wanted to be present. I said “no” to God, even though I knew he stayed with me at home, step by step on my run.

I decided not to send them off alone again and relief flooded my soul when my family pulled back into the garage later that morning.

Since then, I struggle to show up at church each Sunday, but I do. It’s hard right now. Not in the same pre-teen, introverted angst of that Sunday School debacle. But in a deep, hurting, shame-filled, head-bowed, fighting to see myself as God sees me kind of way. I feel God with me—sitting next to me on that pew, sitting with me in my own great sadness—and I pray for the feeling to return.

I go and I sit—sometimes between my sons, sometimes next to my husband. I sit with them, prioritizing my family and listening to God even when I’d much rather stay at home and ignore the weight on my soul. I deal with the rub between personal faith and family because I want to be with them; I am rewarded simply by showing up.

Our Pastor held a Winter Service of Solace this past Wednesday. For those grieving. For those hurting. For those struggling to find joy in the midst of a season splashed with shiny messages of happiness and glee. For those carrying an extra burden of sadness during the Christmas season.

Well, that’s me. So I went.

I went even though BigBrother’s illness that kept him at home for two days started to worsen. I went even though I had to go alone, without my husband by my side. I went even though it was cold and I was tired, having been up with sick boys. I went even though I wanted to curl up under blankets, their weight keeping me grounded.

I went and sat alone in a pew. I sat alone with my fear, my anxiety, my depression on one side of me, my God on the other.

I participated. I asked for God to help us, to help me. I asked for God to hear our cries, my cries. I asked for God to hear us, to come to us; to hear me, to come to me. I asked for God to bring us peace, to bring me peace.

I sang hymns I knew and songs I didn’t.

I lit candles for my grandmothers. For my daughter. For my family. For me.

I prayed thanks for those who have covered me in love and light during this difficult time. I prayed for encouragement and empowerment.

I blinked back tears and felt a deep tug of knowledge—of His presence, of being loved.

This season, this 2014, took me down pretty low, knocked the wind right out of me. As I found myself staring upward, flat on my back, I wondered what the journey back up and out might look like, might feel like. I worried the climb might be too hard, might be too much given everything else.

And then others reached down, hands extended, to help pull me up, pull me out. I used whatever remained of my own strength too. And in all of that, I saw the ways in which God held me, even intervened necessary.

My faith journey feels different already. I’m slow, proceeding with that fear and caution that tends to throw up my walls, but I am proceeding. Even in December. Even in this darkness. Even in this worst year, which might be one of my strongest.

For the light is beginning to shine again.

The Light

 

 

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7 Replies to “The Darkness and The Light: Thoughts on Faith During a Difficult Year”

  1. i will always love the dirt under your nails.
    you have such a beautiful heart and a loving soul, jenna. this post was powerful and made my eyes leaky. so many of us have sat there alone and cried for God to be with us, to help us, to grant us peace. how i know that ache, that prayer.
    may God continue to be with us, heal us, help us.
    as always, sending so much love to you.

  2. I’m introverted and I would often rather be by myself. Getting the kids dressed and to church can be a big ordeal. I’m glad the light is beginning to shine for you again.

  3. Oh Jenna. *hugs* I am so, so glad that you turned toward and not away. Our God is so faithful. I loved this, and I love your Pastor’s heart for realizing that so many struggle during this season. My prayers for you are continuing.

  4. Thank you for writing this piece and sharing. The most simplistic yet binding piece of this for me is sitting in that pew trying to manage young kids. Oh how my heart struggles with not wanting to battle this lately. It’s such a difficult expectation for my five year old who has more energy than two kids a lot of the time. I often would rather stay home and let him run rampant through the house than have to battle him. But we go. Like you, I took a Sunday off here and there because my heart and mental strength couldn’t muster up the stamina to go. Depression often gets its hold on me. I wish I could’ve been a part of such a touching service. May your New Year continue to lighten the burden and give relief to your soul.

  5. It is ok to be mad at God. (He can take it.) The psalmist cried out over and over. In dark knights of the soul–it always feels like he is not there. (Can we trust him when it seems he is not there?) Again psalmists. When you are arguing and struggling with God–you still have a relationship with him. (Jacob’s ladder) All relationships are too close/too far away and then again confusion. God is the only one with unconditional love. We on the other hand move back and forth. We want him to be Santa Clause and give us what we want and how we want it. (I would have kept your grandmothers here at any cost.) We don’t know everything like he does. Even if God was obligated to tell us everything it would not be beneficial for us to know everything. You do not have to be in church to be close to him. However, it is difficult to explain that to young children. You grow closer noticing the small things that are signs from him. To notice and to give thanks for the tiny bits of light is holy. So when he is with you when you run –is intimacy! Church does not have to look like you remember from youth. It can look like a relationship that you have. If you eventually learn that God loves you–you have learned more than many will ever learn.

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