New Seasons

 

Sitting in my office this morning gives me a deep-seated sense of joy; the world may be falling around me for all I care, but this moment is full of bliss—untainted, priceless bliss.

I sit and ponder with a lot of nostalgia at the places I have been, my mindset, myself, my life, the personal struggles I have had to endure, and yet, by the hand of God, here I am. I cannot credit this to my ability, nor my strength, for many times I was teetering on the brink of the abyss, not knowing if the next day would find me alive.

The only unfortunate thing is that I learned how to wear my pain well. I went for coffee dates, did those lunches, ran different programs, and showed up in life. But someone who was keen could see that I was falling through the cracks. There were glaring signs that all was not well. There were telltale signs of someone who was hurt, lost, broken, beaten, defeated, sick, and depressed. The crumbs were always there, no matter how hard I tried to hide them.

One of my closest friends would tell me, "I know today you are not well; I can tell from your words." Another would extend a hand of comfort and presence, and yet another would take me for those early morning breakfast dates.

And despite all this, I teetered, oscillating between big wins and big losses. I neglected many things that were personal to me. I refused to look at them. I stopped attending to anything that was me. I stopped trying. I stopped putting in the effort. It was like shouting loudly that I didn’t matter anymore. I allowed loss and neglect to be part of my story.

And now I find myself paying a heavy price this morning for things I neglected—stuff that wasn’t attended to. Because no matter how much you bury your head in the sand, life still moves ahead with or without you.

Many times I wondered if I would ever live to tell this story. Many times I dreamed of telling the story of how I overcame deep, deep darkness, but I did not know the when, the what, or the why. Many times I wondered if I would die in that season, and I seriously prayed to God to save me, to sustain me, to keep me safe—that I might not die in my inner loss, in shame and guilt, with all my ambitions intact, unaccomplished, undone.

And yet,

Here I am this morning—whole, healed, focused, with my wits around me once again. This cannot be the work of man; after all, I only sat in the counseling seat of the Father Himself. I spoke to Him in loud cries, in bitter words, in neglect, in waste, in silence, in belief, in conviction, in anguish, in quiet desperation, in His own words, in loss; and He heard me. He continuously assured me that, as sure as today follows tomorrow, that season would end.

And for those who have been in seasons of darkness, you know that no matter how many times people tell you that it shall pass, it’s just as difficult to hear and understand. For in that moment, the only thing you are struggling for is breath. And people are good at saying, "It shall pass, hold on." Easier said than experienced.

But allow me to join them in the cliché: It surely passes.

And this morning, as I sit in this office, I feel the quiet assurance of my Father—that you know what, that is done. It is past. And my heart sings in joy and pure bliss that I have been there, done that, and lived to tell the story.

Cheers to new seasons.

Godspeed. 💗

“We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated.”

Njeri

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