grief and redemption

i kind of think that there are a few themes in my life recently. two are grace and generosity, upon which i have briefly touched, but two others are grief and redemption. these themes ebb and flow, not necessarily always flowing smoothly from one experience to the next--sometimes they are extremely disjointed and even show themselves at the exact same moment. it's both affirming and frustrating to feel waves of grief and to simultaneously feel buoyed by the deep, fervent, constant belief that redemption not only exists but is ever present even in grief. i am sure this ties into my musings about jesus and that these ideas are the remnants of my theological education and my spiritual journey. when i stripped away all i didn't believe, i was only left with a few basic ideas, and redemption is one of them. and redemption cannot stand alone; it is dependent upon ideas of sin, grief, and brokenness.

i am broken. it's just true. my heart feels very heavy, my spirit is tired, and i am lost. i'm not even a wanderer anymore; i'm just stuck. and that's okay. we all go through periods where something is just not quite right. however, i am broken and feel a constant grief that weighs me down and exhausts me. grief is exhausting.

but i have a loyal community, and in that community is something like redemption. it's something that lets me know that all is not lost, that i am not lost. it's a quietly supportive communion. it's unlikely encouragement and grace upon grace. this past wednesday i turned 26. i know that 26 is not old, but it's moving rapidly toward 30. i will not have a doctorate by the time i'm 30, and that was always my target age. not a huge deal i know, but yesterday marked the day i was planning to take the lsat. instead, i received in the mail yesterday my partial refund from lsat, because i canceled my test date. so the birthday week has been tinged with sadness, and although i wish it weren't true, i even found myself checking out mentally/emotionally during my birthday celebrations. all around me, i feel like i constantly see people who, if not on track for the career of their choice, are at least content with the lives they are living. i feel discontented, broken, and so frail that i'm practically translucent. but so many of my lovely friends sent birthday wishes and/or came out for dinner that whatever else i am, i can never consider myself unloved. and i received two lovely e-mails from people who were great sources of love and encouragement during my teenage brokenness--not birthday related, but they were both impeccably timed. these people encourage me still, and they give me great hope that by remembering where i've been i can look to the future and believe that there is grace awaiting me.

the other way redemption has shown itself in my life is with my partner. she and i were talking yesterday about something, and i said, "i used to believe that i would be a good partner. now, i am no longer really geared for partnership--it's not that i can't be good at it, but for me it has become a learned [or re-learned] skill. the only thing i know i would be good at, the only thing in the world, is being a mom." she replied, "and for me, the only thing i know i'm good at is being partnered." this is really true, and she has been a great teacher for me as i have re-learned to trust intimacy, to not shy away from people who find me attractive, to allow myself to be vulnerable when the price could be really high. in turn, she has been very vulnerable with me, allowing me to bear witness to her griefs and brokenness and to offer them compassion. what grace this is for me, as someone who felt that my own brokenness rendered me incapable of intimacy on any level. she has been gracious and receptive, listening patiently to my needs, fears, and concerns, and meeting each challenge with compassion for the place from which my fears originate. this, too, has been a redemptive experience, and it, too, offers me hope for the future.

i'm still living with the grief and sadness of the summer, and i'm breathing deeply the beautiful melancholy of the fall. but i know that each season passes, and that this dark night of my soul cannot last forever. soon the leaves will fall, then the snows will come, and the darkness will outlast the day for a spell. but even during the darkest time of the year, there is a grace that eases the grief: in spite of the winter's dark freeze, the spring's soaking downpours, the summer's oppressive heat, or the autumn's chilling winds, each season brings with it many blessings and many opportunities for redemption.

may it be so.