In Case You’re Sitting in the Dark…
Feb 4 2015
It’s been a day, friends. It’s been a… day. A good day. A long day. A quiet day. A loud one. My babies are all asleep now, and it’s dark outside, after midnight. Deep dark; the kind that beckons me to reflect and to be content and to listen to the silence and also to panic because, GAH! IT’S DARK, and I forget sometimes in the deep dark that dawn is coming.
Here’s a list of the things I’m behind on doing:
1. ALL THE THINGS
2. Everything Else
And it’s dark, so IT’S TIME TO PANIC about All the Things left undone.
That’s OK, though, because I know this finally: I am not alone in the dark. I’m not. And you aren’t, either. We’re here together — we’re behind on All the Things, yes — but we are here, in this Murky Life, waiting for the dawn together, which looks a lot like Love.
We’re waiting for the dawn together, momrades (and dad-rads, and human-rads). We’re waiting for the dawn together, and we irrationally believe it’s coming just because it always does.
Many of us, anyway. Many of us stubbornly believe dawn is coming. Just around the corner. Breaking on the horizon. Good things on the way. Aslan on the move.
Let’s be honest, though; there are people waiting in the dark with us who’ve given up on the Light. Who’ve given up on dawn’s arrival. They are sitting in the dark with us, and they have given up. They are tired. They are spent. They have kept the vigil, waiting for the dawn and for Love to Win, and both are taking way too long.
These are the mamas and the dads who are up long nights with the babies who never sleep.
They’re the parents who’ve worked and worked (and worked and worked) to make a better life for their kids and got laid off anyway.
They’re the friend who fought cancer and beat the SNOT out of it and just found out it’s back.
The sister who lost her brother to that horrible accident.
The one who loved and lost and is pretty sure it’s better not to have loved at all, no matter what they say.
The ones who’ve been hurt.
The ones who’ve been wrecked.
The ones who feel alone or afraid or unsure of their welcome.
The ones who know the Deep Dark.
And I don’t mean to tell you how to feel about all these people sitting near us in the dark, mucking up our cheerful wait-in-the-darkness vibe and putting a real downer on our ridiculous, resilient hope, but here’s how we feel about the people who’ve lost faith that dawn is coming: we love them, friends.
We love them.
We sit in the dark next to them, and we listen, and we love, and we keep doing those things even after we realize none of those things — not one — can force our friends into a blissful state of optimistic expectation or anticipatory hope.
I know what you’re thinking if you have small control issues like me; WHAT’S THE POINT OF ALL THE SITTING and LISTENING and LOVING IF WE CAN’T FORCE CHANGE? I mean, LET’S MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE, ALREADY. CHINS UP, EVERYONE. And I feel your pain here; I do.
But the truth is, we sit and listen and love them because there are times in all our lives when we just can’t stand Stupid Hope anymore. We can’t stand to wait for the dawn. We can’t stand to believe Love and Light are on the way.
I don’t have a cute ending here or a neat way to wrap this up. I’m just sitting here in the dark tonight with the rest of you, waiting on the dawn. But I guess I want you to know, if you’re in the Deep Dark right now, and you’re tired of waiting on Hope — it’s OK. It’s OK. It’s OK and you’re OK. It’s OK to lay down for a minute. It’s OK to rest here. We can keep vigil for you for a while. We can take the next watch.
And know this: whether or not you believe the Light is coming, you have friends here in the dark.
Waving in the Dark to You… and reaching out a hand to hold,
P.S. The dawn is coming.