To my dear friends lost in quiet despair,
I’m looking out my window right now, and I see dripping wet January all around.
Today is one of the better days. It just snowed and hasn’t become dirty mush yet — but the roof is crying fat white tears and I know it won’t be long until snow gives way to ice and slush and all things dark and dreary.
If you can’t tell, I hate January.
I hate the weather, hate the schedule interruptions for ice and snow, hate the sickness it brings, hate the death that seems to always tick up after the holidays. And maybe, if I’m being honest, I hate the disappointment too. Christmas always seems so hopeful: a time when anything can be or become, a time when God answers prayers.
But January?
Sometimes it just seems like a month when all the things He didn’t do are especially harsh and glaring.
And I guess I’m sometimes tempted to wonder why God made January happen at all. I mean, he’s God right? The ultimate architect? The grand designer of all things? So why did He, in all his infinite wisdom, give us this season where the trees stand bare and the future seems bleak? Why did He give us periods where we’ve exhausted our good tidings and we’re left holding tired Christmas décor and unanswered prayers in arms ill-equipped for the tasks set before us?
Why does He allow exhaustion?
Why does He allow depletion?
There are a lot of questions I don’t know the answers to, and maybe most I don’t really need to know. But I have come to realize over time that most things that happen in nature happen in the soul . . . and even periods of bleakness, times of shedding, times of January-darkness . . . well, even these seem to have an important role.
As I sit here watching these fat drops cascade from my roof, I find myself thinking that our hearts were made to cry too . . . and that just as there is a time for nature to stand naked and weeping and empty-handed, maybe we too are wired for seasons when our only offering is our tears, our recognition that we are hopelessly not enough.
Can our sorrow really be an offering?
Our despair a quiet form of hope?
I think it can be.
I think it is.
You see, dripping, empty January branches are hopelessly incapable of anything on their own, and yet – their outstretched arms invite a miracle; their open, ice-clad hands show a radical type of hope.
And maybe that is the message of January, maybe that is the joy in Lamentations: Maybe as we stand outstretched and naked of our pretense, maybe it is only then that we really recognize the magnitude of our expectations, the radicalness of the hope to which we were made to cling.
What if it is only when we can acknowledge the gap between what we long to be and what we are that we truly understand the role of God? The role of grace? The role of mercy? The role of love?
So, my sweet friend, I know that things have not been easy for you. I know that you have been in deep winter, exhausted and worn out . . . but as you sit quiet, deep in grief no words can know,
Don’t be afraid to bring your sorrow as a prayer,
Don’t be afraid to offer your despair as an invitation for hope.
God will honor your heart and all that it shows him . . . you don’t need to say anything more.
Romans 8:26: In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.
Tanja says
Thank you Melissa. This time of year is bleak for so many. Your thoughts and inspiration are beautiful!
Pat Daniel says
In the deep despair of January a little girl baby was born. In the dark recesses of the bitter cold and snow the beautiful awakening of a baby’s cry was heard. We love you. Mom and Dad
Meagen says
A few minutes ago I was searching a Food Allergy FB group when I found a post from you. I followed it here, where I found this beautiful piece.
I guess He led me here when He saw my journal entry earlier this morning was “I HATE JANUARY”. LOL
I needed to see that I was not alone today (in food allergy despair AND January gloom!), and you did that for me. Thanking God for you this morning. 🙂
Melissa Lu says
Hi Meagen! Sometimes it’s as simple as knowing we are not alone, isn’t it? Thank you for commenting. You have returned the blessing and made my day better too! Praying for you and the food allergies you manage . . . and good news! January is almost over! 🙂