Tasting Our Sadness

This year, the beloved Swede and I practiced celebrating Thanksgiving as empty nesters.  Our daughter spent the holiday with her fiance and extended family of future in laws.  Our son traveled with his grandparents to enjoy Thanksgiving with his aunt, uncle, and cousin.  Although I have always loved cooking a full Thanksgiving meal, this year the Swede and I decided to have a quiet meal together at a restaurant.  We were seated at a candle-lit table near a window overlooking a lake.  While enjoying delicious food and time alone, we watched as the pilot of a seaplane practiced taking off and landing.  And these were all good things.

I'd like to say that I thoroughly enjoyed our Thanksgiving celebration, that my heart was thankful, peaceful, and content.  I'd also like to say that I make a regular habit out of eating healthy, well-balanced meals and exercising on a regular basis, and that I have thin thighs.

None of those things, however, would be true.

I tried to be stoic; to put on my brave face, to look for and count the blessings of the day.  Heaven knows the Swede did his best to make it a lovely time for the two of us.

But I missed my kids.  I missed our family.

I debated with myself about whether or not to write about this today.  What would be the point?  But, because I often feel as though one of the main purposes of my life is to serve as a cautionary tale to others, I tell my stories here.

I'm not terribly proud of myself.  I wish I could have fully embraced the day, holding onto the good and refusing to give in to my emotions.  Nor do I want to encourage others that it's okay to feel this way.  I spent much of the day feeling like a whiny brat.  And I never wanted to be the kind of mother who laid guilt trips on her kids for growing up, moving on, and finding joy in their lives.  I am truly happy that they were surrounded on Thanksgiving by loving family.

I keep coming back to the idea that even on our best days, even during the happiest times of celebration this world has to offer, there will always be a remnant of sadness.  A person may be missing.  Economic uncertainty may threaten.  Illness or family conflict may be present.  Someone may have forgotten to take the creamed onions out of the microwave or the rolls out of the oven. 

Even in laughter the heart may ache...reads the proverb, and I know these words to be true.  Maybe I come across as a pessimist, an eternal Eeyore who always looks for the gloomy underside.  Or maybe my theology is sound, and I recognize that the best this world has to offer will never satisfy my longing soul.

And now the season of Advent is here.  The day after Thanksgiving I began unpacking the Christmas decorations and hanging the lights.  The sadness began to lift.   It seems fitting to hang lights to celebrate the coming of the One who shines light in the darkness that the darkness can not overcome, to welcome the One who came to earth to taste our sadness; He whose glories knew no end.

And in this life that is only a mirror and a shadow of  the eternal joy and happiness my soul longs for, I continue to look for and count the gifts even as I sing, Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus.

 635.  Time alone with husband who still wants to spend time alone with me.

636.  Candlelit dinner by the windows overlooking the lake while seaplane practiced take-offs and landings.

637.  Baby girl surrounded by loving future in-laws.

638.  Starting the week with a spinach, red pepper, and feta omelet at my favorite breakfast place on the Cape.

639.  Meeting a milliner and hearing her story.

640.  A surprising flood of sweet memories as I drove along Cape roads.

641.  Getting to hear Christmas music all day long while driving.

642.  Walking on a beach in November.

643.  Ethel spending day with son to give me the gift of this day.

644.  Many loving hands of sweet sisters coming together to green the church for Advent.

645.  Seeing familiar faces during worship service of those who returned for holiday weekend.

646.  Quartet reunited and singing together to close worship service.

647.  Knowing we will all be reunited in eternity.

648.  Father, son, and other men from the church enjoying an afternoon of shooting sports.

649.  Seeing my son surrounded by a group of outstanding young men and women in our church.

650.  Hand painted signs welcoming heroes back from Afghanistan.

651.  Driving to church in the evening and seeing homes lit up with Christmas lights. 
652.  That the Lord satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things.  Psalm 107:9

Also linking for the first time today with L.L. Barkat for On, In and Around Mondays.