The Gloaming

The last vestige of light wanes, black taking hold like a heavy blanket in the heat of summer. Darkness can suffocate me. I’m not fully certain if it is my years of battling insomnia or something more sinister, but my heart drops in the dead of night. My sorrow is more present. A pervasive loneliness falls over me and my soul hurts with the weight of it. For years I have tried to ignore this feeling, talk myself out of being afraid of the dark, but it only magnifies my heartache. So, I sit with it. I try to talk with God about it. I’m trying to be better when it comes to talking to Him. Asking him, “why am I having such feelings, such thoughts?” I’m trying not to try so hard, give myself bountiful grace.

Strangely, I love THE GLOAMING. Another word for twilight derived from Scottish origins. This time of day transfixes me. I’m enamored at how the light holds snug to the darkness. It fights against the death it faces each day. The fire red and hot orange turns to soft blue and soothing purple. For me, it is the single most beautiful time of day. My skin buzzes with energy. I don’t fear anything. I feel fully alive. The picture I have in my mind’s eye is the light holding ground and then giving itself over, bleeding into the darkness, as if it is giving the night a bit of its power.

The start of 2019 was grim. I experienced one of the worst bouts of insomnia I’ve had in my adult life. Brain fog was a constant companion, despair a close second. I did all I could to hold on and not let the despair consume me. I couldn’t get past this headspace. Somehow, I failed. I gravitate to this conclusion with any trial in my life. How could I have messed this up? The blame game trickles as I throw off the gloom allowing it to land on poor undeserving people. In wrestling for perfect I literally suffocate my soul. I don’t allow God to have ground.

CS Lewis says, “God loves us, so He makes us the gift of suffering. Through suffering, we release our hold on the toys of this world and know our true good lies in another world. We’re like blocks of stone, out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men. The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much, are what make us perfect. The suffering in this world is not the failure of God’s love for us; it is that love in action. For believe me, this world that seems to us so substantial is no more than the shadowlands. Real life has not begun yet.”

Oh, great gracious sorrow!

The moment things began to change for me was when I surrendered. Instead of asking God, “why are doing this to me?” I asked Him to hold my hand. The insomnia did not go away. Yet, my heart began to shift. As I rested in Him, the valley of the shadow of death – this cloak of night – became a tiny haven. Instead of battling for ground, I found myself in my own gloaming. I was surrendering my power and my stubborn will to His perfect one. I was absorbed in it. There was less timidity toward the darkness. The heart pounding fear ebbed as well.

The chisel exacted blows and I stood in awe. This suffering brought life, for He truly works beauty from our ashes. A Dragon Slayer – I yell into the night, like Eowyn – fear my quiver, hope my bow, love my arrow. I am a woman, empath, & loved by Jesus. His to the core & past. Conversely, I’m the girl with too much dragon skin on. Fruitless attempts to release myself from confinement until the lion cuts to the quick, a terrible tear, and I wade deep in healing waters.

“I do not trust my bow; I do not count on my sword to save me… You are the one who gives us victory over our enemies; you put our adversaries to shame.” (adapted from Psalm 44: 6-7)

I’ve been friendly with many of my “old tapes”. If you aren’t familiar with obsessing over things of old, “God blessed you!”

I am fairly confident this is because I’m starting something new and my precious introverted soul is reeling. I’ve joined a new church. They have been the most gracious, loving, supportive community I’ve had the privilege of knowing. Yet, I fear. I fear striving. Holding things loosely isn’t my strongest forte. Second guessing is a friendly companion.

In honest confession, it is amazing I even try new things. It speaks of the strength of my stubborn will. The worst thing in my mind is being found a fraud – my skirts would show. The reconciliation of my past and an accepting of the glorious present is the sod I’m walking. There is a new woman rising in me. I don’t wish to divorce my past but conciliate with it. The fog is slipping and as my beautiful friend Mary K told me, “you are more than enough”.

There are depths within my soul and I want to see into the depths of others. I’ve always been a deep-water girl despite the frantic way I’ve tried to wade in the shallows. In truth, the kiddy pools no longer suffice. My being shakes with the desire for more. The more that is readily available. I become like the light during the gloaming, not afraid to bleed myself into something other. In turn, becoming more my true self within His-self.

“Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on the altar and wait for your fire to fall upon my heart.” (adapted from Psalm 5:3)

This life is so fleeting. It is an exhale. There is so much more than living and dying. There are stretches of sorrow and pockets of grace. Yet, all is grace in a life lived from love. I believe in Jesus. I believe in Heaven. I believe in a love that surpasses all understanding. The gloaming – where joy and sorrow meet. The foot of the cross. Those nail scarred hands wrapping me warm; a shelter.

I’ll take suffering. I’ll use fear. I’ll release my heart to the more and try to love every soul as well as I can.

Please know that your pain matters. Each of us have lived or are living in our own personal hell. I’m aware that my pain would be something that others would hope for. I see suffering and hope intermingle each and everyday at my job. I don’t understand all the reasons for this life. I don’t understand the full scope of why we were created. Yet, I know the Creator and I know, while not safe, He is so good and loves us more than we can possibly imagine.

So, I exhale to the gloaming. I release this weariness to that more which holds my tears and counts them. In this I am made whole. In this I can see the real.

“Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vines; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation! The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He makes me as surefooted as a deer, able to tread upon the heights.”  – Habbakuk 3:17-19