Are you feeling Hopeless? Depressed? Emotional? Broken? Are the holiday blues chasing you into the New Year? Are you angry because someone refused to make the fruit pie like grandma did or someone else wanted to host at their home this year and not the traditional location? Oh my! What do we do when someone interrupts the flow of family tradition? Introduces a new view? Do you shun that person for years? Refuse to talk or be civil? But is that really what you are mad at? Have you dug deep into your heart to seek the root of your irritation, depression, frustration, anger or hopelessness?
I don’t know about you but I can spend way too much time feeling offended because I think no one understands me. I tend to feel like the last one to the party, like I’m invisible until my heart aches and then sometimes I cry with tears.
Emotional and physical abuse during my childhood, carrier of a genetic disease, a broken family, molestation by non-family members, a divorcee, a barren woman who experienced the pain of infertility, rejection and loss and the multiple confusing messages about my image and self-worth that come with this little list. Therefore, I can understand a smidgen about depression and not caring if I drove my car off the road, because who would care. I can understand a little about hopelessness because I felt like darkness was closing in to swallow me when I curled up in a sobbing ball because as an adult, nothing made sense any more.
“At some point, the thing we are fighting can become the only thing we understand. We can imagine something is not right, yet we don’t know what can be different. In the moment of the very fight we are fighting, the fight becomes all we know.
I wish I had known how to find the field of promised peace and rest that would protect my brother and sister. The same field where the wild flowers mattered and where the little sparrows and chickadees of the air would never fall. But I didn’t know how to find those places.” excerpt from Wounded Song…WS/TSW
My parents divorced and mom prepared to move west with our brother. My sister and I were emotionally lost, checked out and pissed off. We all went our own ways. When I didn’t know what to do and still needed to find lodging, why not add to the despair and go to your first-friend-funeral. That’s when I met his parents for the first time. Mr. and Mrs. P, is what I call them. I introduced myself and we hugged in the receiving line.
They were an unexpected beam of hope. They opened their home and invited me, a total stranger, to live with them and stay in their son’s room. I was devastated my friend died, but had no idea the magnitude of the pain his parents were experiencing when they invited me to their intimate world of grief. Recently I learned that my presence gave them some comfort during the unexpected loss of their only child.
I didn’t replace their son and they didn’t become my new family, but we were brought into each others lives during a time of unbearable pain and loss for different reasons. A precious moment that reflects divine orchestration during a time that seemed so impossible and hopeless for both of us.
The following is another excerpt from my book, Wounded Song. To set the backdrop; I have just moved into the P’s and still need to find temporary shelter for my dog, Francheska. Mom is about to drive west to California. The dialogue starts with me asking my mom…
“When do you think you’re leaving?”
“In a couple weeks, around the first of October. How are your new arrangements going?”
“Great! I’m all moved in and I’m a lot closer to work.”
“That’s great. What about Francheska? Can she live there with you?”
“No, that’s the only problem, they don’t allow dogs so I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Perhaps your father would be willing to help out and take Francheska. Why don’t you call him?”
What an absurd statement. I couldn’t believe what she suggested. Just because they were getting along better since they divorced didn’t mean I wanted anything to do with him. But after I calmed down I realized I still desired to be loved and valued, so I took a risk and called Dad at his rental in Sandy Hook Center. Surprise of all surprises, he welcomed my call and said he’d be happy to care for Francheska until I found a place. I was shocked, yet relieved, that he offered. I mean, I never thought he would, but I learned miracles do happen. He invited me to his friend’s house where he rented a room so we could talk about it. Although it was awkward, we sat at the dining room table and chatted. I felt like a stranger trying to get acquainted with the father she never knew, but I accepted the moment and settled into something out of the ordinary.
When Dad remarried, he moved to Stratford with his new wife and my dog. Random visits formed an unexpected father-daughter relationship. It wasn’t flawless but it was unlike anything I experienced growing up. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to begin healing the first 20 years. Perhaps it was strange that I’d be interested in repair when that mess and confusion were all I knew. But hope will have its way, if I let it, so I tried again.” end of excerpt…WS/TSW
“Like it or not, all will have a familial experience to go through, but how we come out the other end will be up to us. In the midst of the fight hold steadfast because our life song fosters in us a hope that wants to help us shine.” excerpt…WS/TSW
Ugh…some days are so hard, but they do get easier in the middle of crazy if I choose to believe there is another way, another view, another purpose so the negative doesn’t win. It is effort, but I have chosen to fight and dig deep and deeper into the dirt every time I have a question because I want to get to the root. And I’ve learned I can’t discover the root unless I’m willing to get my hands dirty and dig, even if I’m wiping tears from my eyes.
For those of you who have read my memoir, Wounded Song, you know I didn’t have it easy. And yes there is always someone who has had it worse. But that is not what you say to someone who is hurting and in the middle of their crisis. It is not about comparing war stories, but identifying with a piece of the wound. I share my struggles and obstacles and victories with perseverance in hope to encourage others through their story.
In the middle of whatever you’re going through in this season of your life, when it looks impossible, may you be encouraged that it’s not. When steeped in it, we can’t see past the darkness of our pain. That’s why we need the light of hope to penetrate the gloom. My prayer is that you fight for Hope so it can light your path during this New Year of 2019.
Remember, hope will have its way, if you let it!
Hope shows its light in so many ways throughout our lifetime. It’s not a one-time deal. Hope takes us toward light, not darkness. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure…”
Do you believe in hope?
Have you seen it, experienced it, run from it, ignored it?
What gives you hope?
Photo credits: Barefoot Willey archives
Book excerpts: Wounded Song (Link here)
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| Wounded Song Link |
Karen Nadeau posted on face book:
Thank you for this light. I still cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, things can get better.
January 6, 2019 at 7:38AM
Tammy Sue Willey posted on face book:
Karen, Keep clinging and believe because you ARE valuable! I share my stories in hope to reflect His light. Be encouraged.
January 6, 2019 9:52AM
Tammy – sharing your story is a beautiful way to direct others to the hope you have and they can have, too.