It’s Been a Long Time

Over the course of a hard 5 years, or maybe it’s been 7, they start to blend at a certain point, I resigned myself to the notion that life will always be hard – so much more than we ever anticipated at the outset of adulthood. That’s not to say childhood was a cakewalk, but the beauty of being a kid is you really have no idea what you weathered until you look back and begin to pick it apart.  Once it’s been thoroughly combed through, you marvel at the strength of the human spirit, of what a child will endure to keep from being shut out of all they dream.

But of late I’ve found myself in this resignation that all we really have on this side is the hope awaiting us on the other side.  What we believers call eternity.  Wrongs made right. Tears wiped away.  The world and all her inhabitants as it was meant to be.  What a glorious day, that crossover day.  As a faithful follower on this side, I would learn my lessons well, bide my time, and pray to leave my sphere of influence better off for having come within my reach. But it would be hard – so hard – and mostly done by grinning and bearing it, and when the going got really rough, by simply bearing it and hoping my sphere would understand that I had no strength to grin, because I would be honest about it, and that was something.

Seemed like a logical, even Biblical conclusion, given the past 5 or 7 years.

Then I had one of the best conversations of 2016 thus far.  About 2 hours in to one of those blessed heart to hearts, when deep calls out to deep and easy can’t begin to describe the way words were exchanged, my listening friend simply said to the conclusions I had drawn,

but joy comes in the morning.  On this side.

In the days following that profound interjection, I thought long on if that could actually be true.  Until I stopped thinking and quietly sat on my porch and breathed.  It’s spring in Kansas City.  The air is crisp, cool even, this early morning. The trees are in full greenery, the sky a vibrant blue, my peonies, begonias and geraniums radiating pink, red, lavender and all the shades we’ve yet to name, and with each gentle breeze, perfume my presence with sweetness and calm.

But the crown jewel of today is the sun.  The beautiful, shining sun. A week of rain and clouds can make an entire community wonder if it ever will again.  I smiled to myself just last night, out on my deck, nearing midnight, when across the creek from where I sat, a fire pit still blazed and children, little bitty ones, ran and laughed and every so often called to their dads their whereabouts.  You see, the sun shone yesterday too, and this city came alive.  Every sidewalk bustled with runners and bikers and dog walkers.  Every ball field thumped with kicks and throws and catches. Most car windows stayed low, accommodating the swaying hair and arms and music of a people feeling free. Because of the sun. Even at midnight, young and old alike were clinging to the day.

So it dawned on me while sun again caressed my face, that this was natures way, Creator’s confirmation, that weeping may (and certainly does) last for a (sometimes very long) night, but joy comes in the morning.

Joy.

The dormant darkness eventually (but certainly) coming to life in the light of day.  Just look around.

Joy.

The heavy, hollow burden of hard – so hard – unbound and then let go by these new days, these fresh reminders, these worthwhile moments of sitting with the sun.

Joy.

It came to me this morning.

Weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5