Thursday, January 4, 2007

Dearest God,

January has arrived bringing with it its usual depression and despair. It's the time of year when people seem to collapse into darkness. The holidays are past. Gatherings both good and bad have done their work. Gray clouds begin to hover and the sinking commences. Without help people struggle, falling deeper and deeper. The phone's been ringing off the hook.

I had two counseling sessions yesterday and two others who hoped to get in this week. With a short week, a funeral both at home and in Marion for a church member member today, two critically ill hospitalized people and serious surgery for my brother in law in the morning, I am up to my earlobes in worries and cares. Because I won't be back from Marion until late I'm not sure I can make the service at Crown Hill for all 153 people who died from homicides in Marion County.

The joys of Christmas soon turn to the disappointments and ills of January. It's a hard switch for some people. The bleak weather only serves to exacerbate the situation. Some really suffer.

For a few days I have felt a fog around myself. My Advent and Christmas were the best ever. But I've had a lingering ominous feeling that something is not right. Not sure what it is. Perhaps the January blues have struck home with me, although I do not feel despairing or without hope. In fact my Advent served to strengthen and deepen my faith. Without the frenzy and endless hours of cooking and shopping, worrying and spending, I was freed up to receive every gift of Christmas. I am blessed, even if I feel a little "blueness."

Taking the hand of a suffering person is an incredible gift of God. I talked with Jeanette about her getting well and the two of us dancing in gold tutus on tables. She said she's rather dance in pink. Her daughters howled. We laughed so hard. Turned out to be a good visit with a special lady. Time with Evadene was more difficult. She is so very ill. Blistered, black, swollen arms caused by blood clots are threatening her very fragile life. She looks so tired, weary from a fight with illness for a long time. I'm worried about her. I told her she was one of my favorite people. She smiled and said, "You're one of my favorite too." We are friends.

The counseling sessions went well. But you can't fix brokenness all at once. First there were cracks, then crevices, a widening before the stress broke them apart. Things take time. No answers can heal quickly. There has to be a process where people take the hard steps, taking hold of God's hand, listening, leaning, moving forward, paying the price. It's painful. Generally suffering will continue for a while.

At the same time I feel like I am in my element. Listening to troubled folks, offering words of encouragement and hope, even comfort seem to rally people for the moment. Depending on hard far down they are, they usually have a little more pep in their step when they leave. The hard work begins when they step out of my office. I promise my prayers and another visit.

God is present in my office. I never have to ask God to come. God is always there, has a stake in what happens. Hangs out over night, singing health and healing to the office and his church. I'm welcomed when I come inside. What a comfort and joy!

January is the time to renew my faith and belief in the God who helps, guides, heals, hopes in us. It's the perfect moment to begin again, to surrender, to take hold, to march to the heavenly tune. Faith is happening. It is real and alive. It possesses power, of the spiritual variety. It can override just about anything that will seduce us into loneliness, hopelessness, despair. Faith can buoy us, upright us when we're heading downward. It can even sing us a song of hope, bringing an uprising of the corners of our mouth, turning our frowns into smiles. Faith keeps us not only surviving but thriving as well. We go on, sometimes still dragging our burdens with us. But to the foolhardy who truly believes, we let go, leave the burdens to others, namely God, then we go on. That is as God has designed it. January is a reminder of this promise.

Holy Father,
we are like little children
in January.
We feel lonely
and sad.
Sometimes even afraid.
Sometimes we know why
and sometimes we don't.
We just flounder,
feel lost,
like the ground is shifting
under our feet.
But the ground belongs to you;
the shifting is only
a sign
that you are near
calling out,
trust me, little one,
come to me,
bring me your cares.
Your lap is the best.
There is room for the smallest
and the biggest.
We crawl up
and stay for as long
as we want.
Thank you,
Daddy,
for your loving care
in blue January.

Your daughter, Andrea