One of my English professors was fond of telling the story of a young man who faced a deep sorrow and afterwards the young man's depth of writing greatly improved. I hated the story because I did not want to face sorrow to be a better writer. I can not say that sorrow has improved my writing, but it has brought depth to my character.
Some of you know I started blogging in January of this year so that I could connect my posts with the Letters of Frank Laubach. The letter that I landed on for my birthday, of all days, deals with sorrow.
"I have been so desperately lonesome that it was unbearable save by talking with God...Somebody was telling me this week that nobody can make a violin speak the last depths of human longing until that soul has been made tender by some great anguish" (Laubach 15 March 1930).
Oh well, why not address sorrow? On this day, the culmination of my 59th year, I can write that I have experienced sorrow (as well as many blessings). I can not write that I am thankful for the sorrow (perhaps in one or two cases I can), but I am thankful for the grace and comfort that God brought into and out of the sorrow.
I never understood any reason for the sorrows of my childhood until I went to other countries where God used my own experiences to open doors into the hearts of people whose lives were so different from those of my American companions.
And so, I give thanks.
When I was laid off from my job, I not only lost my job but also my community. I can write now, nearly five years later, that the deep and intense love that I felt from God made it all worthwhile.
And so, I give thanks.
I have seen some become bitter from sorrow. Maybe the bitter ones become the better writers. Yet, I would not trade my life for Mark Twain's or Robert Frost's (two writers who never overcame their bitterness because of sorrow) for all the acclaim in the world.
And so, I give thanks.
Two years ago, I applied for a program and did not make it in. Instead, my application was rolled over for another year, and this time, after being put on a waiting list, God opened the doors. This is one of those cases where words can not express the extent of my thankfulness. I love the international group of friends with whom I am walking this journey.
And so, I give thanks.
This year, I applied for my dream job, and I did not get it. This year, an older friend died when I was out of town, a family member died too soon, and a little one did not make it to his first birthday. Deep sorrows indeed. I can not understand these sorrows; I can not be thankful for them -- their purposes remain a mystery to me.
Some mysteries may be explained while I am in this mortal body and some may not, but one thing I know: in fifty-nine years, no one has ever shown me a better way or life or truth than that which I see in Jesus Christ.
And so, I give thanks.
No comments:
Post a Comment