It’s heavy. It feels like a burden. It feels like a weight.
It’s complex. It is layered. At times it doesn’t make sense.
It requires discernment. It demands time. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.
It’s tender. It cuts deep. It needs tending.
It searches for hope. A speck of light in the bleak, gray darkness. Hope to cling to. That this isn’t forever.
Hope that says, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those that love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8: 28)
And says, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43: 18-19)
A hope that assuredly promises, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.” (Jeremiah 29: 11-14)
Sitting in the heavy. Sitting in the complexity and discerning how to show up in this moment and how to move forward in the future. Tending to the wounds, loving the tender places, and holding the hurts that are deep as they work to heal. Clinging to the promises that I know, and at times hope, to be true.
The Journey Home 