This past Sunday was the Sunday of Peace in the Advent season. We spent a lot of time at church talking about peace and about finding ourselves sitting in the darkness. Sometimes that darkness is a place of waiting, the place where we sit and wait and watch. It’s where we sit and wonder about our life and wonder what's coming next. And we sit there sometimes in peace. But we also talked about sitting in the darkness when you're not at peace. Sitting in the darkness and wondering why this is your life. Sitting in the darkness and wondering what the purpose of your life is. Sitting in the darkness thinking about some of the hardest moments in your life and finding that darkness sucking you in and overwhelming you.
One of my best friends is our pastor and she shared with us a story about going for a walk with someone in the last week or so who was struggling with her own darkness. She was struggling with a significant event in her past that had brought her great trauma and that she just kept going back to, that she couldn't let go of. My friend asked her to picture where Jesus was inithat hard and difficult time in her life. This young woman started to cry and she said that she couldn't see Jesus anywhere when she looked at that event, there was no signs that he was present. And so my friend told her to go back into that memory and open the door, open a window and just let Jesus into that memory. Just the act of opening your memory door and allowing Jesus in to sit with you in that place is a pretty big one, pretty deep and, I think, pretty effective to bring yourself to that place of peace. To welcome Jesus into our darkest memories so he can show us where he was sounds so healing.
In the last few days I have found myself entering into my season of darkness . It always seems to kick off on December 7th, World ttts Awareness Day. I know that my darkness looks nothing like it did just under 13 years ago. It doesn't look like it did 12 years ago, 11 years ago, 10 years ago... But there's still some darkness. Sometimes I don't understand why. And so I'm taking myself back to that place. I desperately needed to know Jesus was with me that horrible day. I see glimpses of him in various moments. I see him in the moment when Geoff and I held each other up as we dealt with the earth shattering news that Cole was gone. I see him with us at them when my mom and dad walked into that hospital room just hours after we learned the worst news that any parent can ever learn. I feel him in the embraces that they gave me that day. I see him sitting with me that evening while I had another medical procedure done to try and save Cameron's life. I see him giving me the opportunity to share that with my dad, and giving me that memory that I will always cherish of my dad wiping the sweat from my brow and tears from my eyes as Dr Ryan performed yet another miraculous procedure. I see him in the joy that was on our faces when we learned that Cameron was going to be okay and that there were no lasting effects from everything that had happened. I see him riding with me in that ambulance to Toronto when my water broke and everyone was so sure that my very premature and tiny for his gestational age baby was about to arrive. I see him keeping Cameron safe inside of me for the next 7.5 weeks.
But most of all I see him and feel him as he has guided me through healing, guided me to share my story and reach out to others. I feel him motivating me to help others, sense him in the way that 12 years later we're still running a fundraiser to raise money to say thank you to Mt. Sinai.
And I feel him deep within my heart when I say, as hard as it is sometimes to say it, that losing Cole was a blessing on my life. I’m not always hankful for that blessing, most definitely not thankful this time of year. But I know in my heart Jesus held me up through all of this and that he has shown me that my son can make an impact on the world without ever taking a breath.
And so today I encourage anyone who has a dark and traumatic memory that interrupts their life and makes it difficult for them to move forward, to open the door of that memory, to open the windows and let Jesus in. Sit there in those moments and let him come in and help you to heal. Let him sit with you, offer you comfort and show you that he was always there, that’s he’s never left you.
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