How can this possibly be the last week of November? The beginning of August still seems so very present in my mind and heart. It's been a really hard three months, working on probably the biggest project of my career whilst simultaneously trying to come to terms with the loss of our baby.
With exhaustion's claws dug in deep, all I could focus on in those three months was the emptier looking diary once the project was over. I thought that once the show went down there would be a great sense of relief. In reality, the end of the project brought with it a week of the worst headaches I've ever experienced. Headaches I am told by my doctor were stress-induced. Let's be honest, is that so surprising?
It's like my body decided to stop me in my tracks and force me to be still. To take the time to think and process the tornado that has blown through my life in the past season.
I think what I am feeling is a great loss of potential: the potential little life that's gone but, also, the potential of an amazing opportunity that I wasn't able to fully enjoy or take advantage of. The Rifles should have been the high point of my career, but I wished most of it away. It was easy in all of that wishing to imagine that by now I would be back to the old me. A couple of quieter days felt like all that I needed. Perhaps it was naiveté or perhaps it was my way of pulling myself through what felt like thick molasses - a coping strategy.
In actual fact, a couple of quiet days just isn't going to cut it. I've been forced to re-evaluate my use of time, to let go of a number of things, and to pursue rest. I feel a bit like the tree outside our living room window, which once stood proud and full of life but now stands bare with only a few little leaves hanging on while it's branches are battered about in the wind. It all feels a bit raw and painful. But I've been here before, albeit through different circumstances. This is not the first winter of my life. Always in this place I am reminded of John 15. That God, in His grace, cuts back in order to promote new growth. That I am rooted in Him. That this season is a time to lean into Him, to deepen my roots and to trust that fruit is to come in its season.
Tonight I listened to My Lighthouse by Rend Collective for the first time in ages. And its truth sunk deep:
He is My Lighthouse.
He is guiding me through this stormy season.
He has brought me this far and He won't abandon me.
He is good.
Always.
I might not be able to see the horizon. But I just need to fix my eyes on the Guiding Light. Eyes on Him is all I need for now.
