This morning my mud-sludge lawn competed with snow that lay upon it like sifted powdered sugar. Both the dusting and the dirt vied for attention, giving me a snapshot of my emotional life.
My kids ask me how I am doing with death and Brian and I talk about the sadness I feel around the anniversary of my Mom's birthday. He says, "It's beautiful."
Beautiful sadness? Do those words belong in the same phrase?
"Think of it this way," he continues, "You have the capacity to think about the loss of your Mom and be sad. That's beautiful."
This capacity to feel sadness is a thing of beauty? Well, when I think of the alternative, to be cold and unmoving towards this great loss, I see Brian's perspective. And in some mysterious way, to describe grief as beautiful sadness feels like a warm comforter wrapped around my feelings.
I told him later I thought his words profound and he gave me something else to ponder: "It's the power of the opposite," he explained.
Now that's something I understand. Opposites existing, murky mud and pristine snow, one with the other, do wield a powerful force. There's a force in me that says only room for one. I can only handle one at a time-- the beautiful one, of course. It's power that I work hard to control and tension is the by-product. Who wants that?
During a recent sermon series on marriage, Pastor Bill said that tension in marriage is good. It creates space for spiritual growth. Who wants to grow spiritually by way of tension? Who wants that?
Most of us would like tension to just go away.
But what would happen if we allowed ourselves to hang in the balance of this tension?
Isn't that what Jesus did for us?
He experienced the power of the opposite as he hung in the balance in all the beauty and cruelty of the cross.
We read in Hebrews, "for the joy set before him, he endured the cross."
But I think I need a world covered pure in unadulterated snow. Nothing muddying up my landscape.
And oh how we impose this need on others. Someone cries and we try to make the tears go away. Life is messy and we try to sweeten it with a dusting of powdered sugar.
But what does Jesus do? Jesus bears the tension of a fallen world, "surely he has borne our griefs," and makes our lives more than bearable.
He makes our sadness beautiful.
I needed to read this today, Donna. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteKnow that whatever today brings, my prayers are with you. I am so glad we've connected. You and Christy are amazing Moms.
ReplyDeleteThank you for inviting me to your blog site. We share at least one thing in common. My father passed away a year ago February and I can relate to "beautiful sadness." To be able to reflect on a life is an incredible gift, one that I only did in my formative years from a dispassionate distance. After 4 decades of walking with the Savior the observation of a life, especially of those who finished well, brings both sadness at their parting, but also great joy of both their contribution to this life and the encounters they now enjoy in the land of the living. Denis
ReplyDeleteThank you, also, Donna, for this excellent and poetic contemplation. I'm still digesting it's richness and insights.
ReplyDeleteChris,
ReplyDeleteAs you digest these insights, it would be interesting and helpful to others to share what God is showing you.
Henri Nouwen published a collection of letters he wrote to his Dad to comfort him when his Mom died. It's called Letters of Consolation-- a great book to recommend to others.
Several inches of thick, heavy snow fell on Lodi last night. Today my springtime-muddy back yard is covered in the snow, the trees are blanketed with it, and the view outside my window that yesterday was gray and rainy is just beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI've often said to the folks at my church that this is the way God's grace is. It covers up the mud and dirt of our lives with an amazing blanket of white ("though your sins were as scarlet, they shall be white as snow") that covers up all ugliness and imperfections.
Although I know that there is mud underneath the snow, when I look out my window I don't see an ugly yard, I see a beautiful one.
And although I know that I am conscious of the muddy sin that infects my life, I also know that due to the grace and mercy of Jesus when His Father and mine looks at me, all He sees is the whiteness of Jesus' righteousness. That's grace, and that's amazing!
Looking forward to dialoguing with seminar participants this week!
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