but His joy comes in the mourning

I’m tired.

There, that’s out there.

I’m exhausted. No, I don’t have a little baby waking me up at all times of the night, or four kids to corral into fine formations, or a family to provide for or a company to lead. But I am just one person and being just one for 30 years can be tiring too. I’ve been getting up while it’s still dark most mornings and for this night owl, that’s enough to spin me into the oblivion of tiredness.

bed sunlight white sheets

I sat across from a friend on Wednesday and we talked about what it means to enter into one another’s sorrow. How it means that we don’t just feel pity or empathy or a burden, but that we actually enter into it. We feel it. We know it. We know it as acutely as our own sorrow.

This goes for joy too. But somehow joy peddles us forward, while sorrow only seems to hold us down.

There are so many, many sorrows in me today. I can’t even give number to them and so few of them are my own that even if you ask, I won’t tell you anything is wrong, they are not my sorrows to tell.

My pastor back home told me once to do my homework in class: pray for a friend while I’m with them, counsel them right there, and that doing this would alleviate some of the burden someone with a gift of mercy is going to carry.

It was some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten and I rarely let an opportunity go by without praying for someone.

But sometimes mourning with those who mourn means that we ache with their unanswered prayers. Sometimes it means we wake up aching and go to bed aching. Sometimes it means we keep careful watch on our phone for updates and careful watch on the messages we send out, keeping watch over souls that have been entrusted to us.

I’ve been depressed before, no secret there. And this season feels acutely like those seasons before: I want to sleep, I forget to eat, smiling feels like too much work, work feels like too much work. But last night as I slid between my sheets and put my head on my pillow, closed my eyes and felt the tears brim to the surface, fall over my cheeks, I felt the Holy Spirit say to me, “There is nothing light about mourning, but there will be light in the morning and morning is coming.”

I woke up late this morning and for the first time this week the sun streamed in my window, a sliver of light across my comforter.


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14 responses to but His joy comes in the mourning

  1. Oh, friend. I feel this ache with you. Be kind to yourself during this time. Even if they’re not your own burdens or stories to tell, you still bear the strain of carrying them and walking alongside those who are mourning.

  2. praying for you girl.

  3. Sorry to hear you’ve been feeling like this. I know how hard days of depression can be. I also know how challenging it can be to write well about the feelings of darkness. You do so beautifully.

  4. I have been feeling the same way lately (maybe for different reasons, maybe for some of the same) and Holy Spirit has given me the same word “joy comes in the morning”. 2 songs that have really been ministering to me are “Shadowfeet” & “C.S Lewis’ Song” both by Brooke Fraser, both on the cd “Albertine”. Hope they bring you comfort as they have comforted me…

  5. Thank you, truly. When I feel like this it feels like the only time writing really is WORK for me. Glad to know the gift doesn’t abandon me even if it feels like everything else has =) Thanks for reading and I pray you are in a season of rich joy!

  6. I’ll start listening right now =) Thanks! And thanks for reading, truly.

  7. Hey Lore, I’ve felt that aching heaviness too, and the absolute exhaustion that makes you want to weep from the sheer pain of it all. Thank you for sharing your sadness and allowing us the privilege to pray for you and those you love, and maybe in some way bear the burden with you.

  8. This is beautifully put, Lore. And I’m so glad you slept in and that the light is beginning to make its way through the dark. We live a braided life, don’t we? And sometimes one color comes to the top and it can feel like eternity plus a day til the other one shows up again. You write so, so well.

  9. Tammy thank you. Really. “In some way to bear the burden with you.” That matters. It really does.

  10. Thank you Diana. I’m so glad I slept in too! Even if it did mean I felt a little behind on the rest of my day. Thanks for always reading!

  11. Lo – I love how you depicted a difference between mourning and depression but yet they have so many similar characteristics. For me, I’ve been in a long season of grieving and mourning which can seem to outsiders to have some of the same outward signs of depression but the Lord also showed me how great of weight we carry when we grieve, mourn, and carry a deep burden. Love your writing. Praise Jesus for the gift he gave you.

  12. Mmmmm…. I love that… morning IS coming.

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