Over the past several weeks, I have been reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, Learning to Walk in the Dark. It is a spiritual book about our conviction to assign good with light and bad with dark, whether physical, spiritual, psychologically, etc. In the book, she makes the argument that there is good and bad in both the light and the dark… That to live a full life we not only need to experience both, we need to accept both as neither good nor bad… Instead, each are necessary with their own rhythms, qualities, and comforts. Without one, there is no way to appreciate and fully understand the other.
I love that idea. Sure, I will readily admit that I am the first one to turn on all the lights as the sun goes down. I am sure it is my vain attempt to keep the darkness “out there” while lighting up the world around me. But… is that necessary? And when applied as an analogy, is that the best way to live?
I’m really not here to debate that… In fact, as I write this, while it is the middle of the day, a storm is rolling in and it is dark enough at my table that I have turned on the light above me. But then again, the author didn’t say light was bad either… Her point is to accept both as they are… not to assign qualities that aren’t there.
This week, I have found myself pondering this over and over. In fact, there was one section that I can’t seem to let go…
“To be human is to live by sunlight and moonlight, with anxiety and delight, admitting limits and transcending them, falling down and rising up. To want a life with only half of these things in it is to want half a life, shutting the other half away where it will not interfere with one’s bright fantasies of the way things ought to be.”
~ Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark
This section has had me contemplating my life since Bruce died… I know I have used darkness in many analogies about grief… I suppose that is because it feels true for me. Yet, I am afraid of walking down this path with grief as my lantern. There is a fear of this path that is hard to describe… It is a fear of being alone… and a fear of not being alone… There is the dread of being abandoned, and yet I no longer seem to welcome new friendships with the open arms I once did.
That is when I realized, as scared as I am to be on this path… to walk in the dark… I believe I may be just as scared, if not more so, to get off. I guess, the unknown darkness has become familiar. Or… Perhaps I am terrified of ever going through anything like Bruce’s death ever again. I don’t know that I would survive it a second time.
Yes, I know I will experience more death in the time ahead… That is life and I am getting older, and that just is what it is. However, the idea of opening up enough to let anyone new into my life and then losing them… I can’t do it… I just don’t have enough of whatever that takes. The darkness I felt all around me after Bruce died was blinding… I was numb for so long… unable to feel… not wanting to move… or breathe… just sitting in my darkness and letting it envelope me.
While it has been a few years since I felt that way, I can remember that feeling like it was only this morning, and I don’t want to go back there. There are still days when I must remind myself that life is good, and I am blessed. When I think of Bruce, there are still days when I have to decide whether I am going to remember our time together and smile or think of his death and cry. I’m not trying to be melodramatic; I am just being honest about what this felt like then, and what it still feels like.
It may seem strange, but some of the best comfort I have found over the years comes when I think of my grandfather. We called him, Pop, and he was a huge piece of my life. My father wasn’t around much in my younger years, but my Pop, well… he was always there. They lived behind us, and he always had time for this silly little girl who just wanted to be hugged and held.
I sat by him in church whenever I could finagle it. I loved sitting in his lap on Sunday afternoons… The two of us in his big old chair with my head on his chest – listening to him talk and laugh. The summer I learned to drive, he took me in his car, and we drove around the block… over and over and over… No matter what was going on in my life, I always knew he would be there.
But life wasn’t easy for him; he was a man who had a rough start in life. Both of his parents died when he was younger, and he was sent to live with his aunts. After 7th grade, he had to quit school and go to work to support the family. Yet, as I remember him, he always had a smile. He never backed away from life’s challenges but seemed to meet them head on. And why? To me, it just seemed like he had a faith that knew no bounds. One of his favorite hymns, which seemed to express his faith, was How Great Thou Art…
This week I needed to hear that song… At the time, I didn’t know why. Yet, when I hunted it down and listened, so much seemed clear… I think I simply needed a piece of Pop’s faith… When the words came, “I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder. Thy power throughs out the universe displayed. Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee. How great Thou art, how great Thou art,” * it hit me… Pop had not only learned to walk in the dark, but he also had learned to find the good there… the blessings and comfort that lay quietly within its rhythms.
His faith allowed him to see that even when it was dark, God provided stars to light the way… Even when the thunder rolls, God is near…. Because of his faith, I understood – I am not on this path alone… and grief is not my only light. There is a peace here in the darkness… a peace that, with time, can build in me the courage I need to live fully by sunlight and by moonlight.
* How Great Thou Art, original poem by Carl Gustav Boberg
Grief is challenging. It can feel like the loneliest path at times since it creates a different path for each of us. However, just because our journeys may be different, it doesn’t mean we have to be alone. We can find courage and strength in one another. We can shyly open our hearts to one another and take a chance that we can survive whatever lies ahead. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.
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