“In the broken places, the light shines through.” – Leonard Cohen
With my bare feet planted in the freshly cut grass, I squinted my eyes behind my sunglasses as I looked up at the sky.
The bright, mid-morning sun cast a warm glow behind the artistic display of scattered white fluff. The blades of green glistened at my feet.
“This is beauty,” I thought to myself as I breathed in the fresh air and simple beauty surrounding me in my little yard. Light broke through the patches of blue amidst the open weave of a white blanket of clouds overhead. I couldn’t help but smile.
It felt peaceful. Calm.
Those broken places, the open space where the blue lets the sun rays through? As I studied the sky I determined it somehow ushers in more beauty than if the sky were free of white.
It makes what could be viewed as a fragmented sky, something to be admired.
The brokenness that comes with heartache, loneliness, grief and pain feels anything but beautiful. It is heavy, stinging with each vinegary drop on our inner wounds. Bringing with it the sharp pangs of not being okay.
And the pain? It’s not radiant. The loneliness is not light-filled. Our sense of loss can feel like storm clouds that never quite go away.
And so we sit, waiting for the sun to make it’s appearance.
We hold on, waiting for life to slow down, for healing to come, or relationships to be restored after we’ve done all we can. We grip onto hope that a new chapter is coming.
I don’t know how slowly the sky changes in our storms, but it sure can feel like a snail on crutches at times. Asking, hoping, praying for God to answer what feels to us like a pure request.
For healing, fertility, a better job, a spouse, a community of support.
And the clouds linger. The rain comes. The lightning shatters.
It can all feel dark.
I’m beginning to accept that there is light that I may not be able to see here…with my current view clouded by the mist and engulfed in the continuous storm of illness.
Yet somehow my husband sees it. Friends see it. Light somehow shining it’s way out of this storm.
And while I can’t always see it in my own story, I see it in so many others. I see it and it inspires me to keep moving forward. To continue to give and love and spread kindness in the midst of the fight.
The light I see in you, my friends, is the light that comes from perseverance. The light of compassion. The light of giving in a season when you may have little to give – be it of time, resources, or friendship.
You may be like me, feeling engulfed by your own unique storm of loneliness, disappointment, loss, heartbreak, or illness. And here we sit, or lie or stand doing a rain dance or anything else that may break open that dark sky above.
I’m here to tell you that the rest of us can see that light. It may be flickering. It may not be that ultimate answer we’re waiting for, but I see YOUR LIGHT.
Every time you share kindness, love, friendship, empathy, or warmth with another, it’s casting out light and hope to those taking in the view. The view of you and your life story. An extension of love from a compassionate God to the rest of us around.
This light is from the story of you not giving up, of doing the best that you can with what you have.
So I’ll continue pleading for all of our dark skies to burst open like the sky I embraced from my front lawn. But for now, let’s keep pressing on dear ones.
I’m convinced your courage is radiant.