When Winter Lingers in the Soul
We hear people say that life is made of different seasons, strung together by the sun and the moon. Everyone hits the rough patches, sooner or later.
When I first started blogging, it was difficult for me to really relate to bloggers going through a particularly difficult season. I felt for them. I had sympathy. I was also curious. Is it difficult to function in the everyday loop of mothering and house-keeping while you're "in a difficult season"?
I assumed things must be bleak if it was bad enough to blog about. In my mind, a difficult season probably meant not getting off the couch; serving Rice Krispies for dinner eight days straight. I was relieved that I would never know for sure. No way would it ever happen to me, a self-taught optimist.
But then, of course, it did. Life just got a lot harder. It wasn't one great tragedy. It was the collision of many speed bumps that piled up into a concrete wall that I couldn't see past.
And life kept right on moving. My children were still well-fed and adequately tickled. My husband still got kissed. The whites were sorted.
As it turns out, a difficult season isn't the depression commercial come to life. It isn't even the hang-around blues.
It's a lesson. It 's an opportunity to take in the view of my life from a different corner of the room.
I look out from my orange velvet chair - the one I never used to sit in - and the world still looks pretty grand. Yeah, Mama has had some things on her mind. The days have been harder. I've spent more nights wracking my brain for an answer - the answer. I've read books, talked to smart people, tried this, on a whim, and then that. I've listened to a whole riot of voices.
But only when the days got the grayest did I finally cry out, "I need to hear Your voice."
It was after midnight, but the sun had never looked so bright.
God has lovingly placed us in a world with so many resources at our fingertips. We seek advice on finances, parenting, marriage, and our careers from people who serve God. I have seen for myself that God often speaks through those voices.
But when well-meaning advice muddles and contradicts and we find ourselves trudging through it all without direction, there is One Voice waiting to throw us a line and haul us out. His is the voice that speaks directly into our soul. His is the only one that matters.
This is one lesson I may have never learned were it not for my own season of gray.
And it's amazing how, in that single moment of desperation, the atmosphere lifted and eight shades of pink pushed through the once-frozen soil.
It's spring, baby.