The bus lurches forward in traffic and the standing passengers jostle for space.  The commuters in front of me keep bumping against my feet and I am not sure who feels more uncomfortable.  Dangling my legs out into the central aisle of the bus is clearly not working.  I pull my feet up into my chest and I receive a grateful smile from a woman in front of me.  Sitting in the luggage rack of the bus, I concede that I have chosen an unusual seat.  However, now that I have discovered this hidden-in-plain-sight option, it has proved quite useful on my travels across this new city.

Two months ago, I arrived in a new country with my new husband.  With heavy suitcases in tow, we landed at midnight in Argentina, the country that my husband calls home.  A purple beanie was promptly put on my head by one of our friendly welcomers and in the blur of fatigue, jet lag and the bracing cold of a winter’s night, we were ushered to a waiting car.

For me, the new is always so… uncomfortably new. Like someone turning the light on when you are fast asleep and you awake in a confused fog and not a little bit grumpy. There are of course those who exuberantly embrace their new environment like rolling down a grassy hill.  When they reach the bottom, they jump up ready to do it again, laughing off the grass stains across their clothes.  Of course, they probably don’t have a pollen allergy either. 

Community is beautiful and needed but I haven’t always believed this. I once thought I could grow in my faith without Christian community. So much so that I chose to leave church because I believed I didn’t “need it”. This was a selfish and prideful viewpoint, but did I see it as that at the time? Most certainly not. I was blinded by my own behaviour. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting myself. I thought it’d help me to heal. I couldn’t be further from the truth.

I walk with grief and grief walks with me

sometimes I swim in it

I’m stuck

Drowning

Stuck in these feelings that I can’t reconcile

Between the what I have and what’s to come

Sorrow blossoming into empathy and compassion

Able to hold others sorrow

While learning to live amongst my own

How do you maintain your luminous colour amidst loss and grief?

I’ve been asking myself this lately. I’m not sure I have the answer, but it inspires me to keep looking for the colour. I’m learning that joy and sadness can coexist. Someone I admire once said “there’s a holiness to the sadness.” This is so true. The more I allow myself to be sad with God the more I know and understand the heart of God. I’m reminded of what Jesus said many moons ago, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). When we mourn we’ll be comforted by God. What a beautiful promise.

Although I do question; what happens when it feels like the colour has left and it can’t be found again? How do we live the life we’re called to live, “a life to the full” (John 10:10) - when we face pain and suffering? Around two years ago, I received a life changing diagnosis. My perspective on my new normal fluctuates. Some days I feel acceptance, hope, on top of my recovery program and the symptoms are improving. Other days I feel helpless, isolated, and deeply sad.