AfterWords | To Delight Again
AfterWords is a series of reflections by contributors as they share their personal experience of God in community at The Parish on Sundays.
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A short read
by Amy Hoyle
Joy is a mystery because it can happen anywhere, anytime, even under the most unpromising circumstances, even in the midst of suffering, with tears in its eyes. — Frederick Buechner, The Hungering Dark
This time last year, I was struggling through a season of deep loneliness, alongside my summertime depression. It was a season of mourning what once was. That mourning season was holy and helpful, and I’m grateful for every moment. My world was so small, but never too small for God. He remained ever near, ever loving, ever present.
It wasn’t until a day before Thanksgiving that I received a word from God, which really helped bring me to where I reside today.
I was lamenting our small Thanksgiving table, remembering years past when it stretched long and full with family. As I gave my grief to God, I heard His sweet voice lovingly remind, “It’s not small, it’s just different.”
In that simple phrase, God reminded me I was just between the doors of what once was, and what was to come. It was a time to remember and a time of expectancy.
Life is an ebb and flow of beginnings and endings, full and empty, life and death, joy and despair. None are spared this rhythm, but that truth doesn’t make it any easier.
Like the writer of Psalm 42, my heart broke when I remembered the past. Still, I resolved to put my hope in God. My exiled heart was breaking, so I turned my thoughts to the Lord, who showed His constant love during the day, so I might have a song at night, a prayer to the God of my life.
Kate Bowler writes so beautifully, “Blessed are we in the after zone, loudly shouting: Is there anybody here? We hear the echo, the shuffle of feet, the murmur of others asking the same question, together in the knowledge we are far beyond what we know.”
In my season of loneliness and depression, God began to show me glimmers of possibility—through the love of my husband and sons; in the deepening of old friendships and the beginning of new; in the liturgies and songs spoken and sung at our Parish, in scripture and my tear-soaked prayers.
God brought others alongside to bear the burdens, mysteries, and joys of this big, beautiful, complicated gift called life.
Even as I wrestled through the yet to come, God was writing a bigger story— one with new delights and new family to love, the addition of our son Noah’s girlfriend and her daughter.
God has given us the privilege of loving and being loved by two of the most extraordinary humans, and our heart has expanded with love as our story joins with their story.
With hope burning in my heart, I testify God is at work, even in the middle of a mess. He brings new delights, new mercies, new hopes.
And for those still in the after zone, know that I am here.
You are not alone.
I see you, and I love you.
Storms within my troubled soul
Questions without answers
On my faith these billows roll
God, be now my shelter
Why are you cast down my soul?
Hope in Him who saves you
When the fires have all grown cold
Cause this heart to praise You
“Lord from Sorrows Deep I Call” (Psalm 42) by Keith and Kristyn Getty
Want to contribute to AfterWords? From poems to paintings to a child’s drawing in Parish Kids, we welcome voices from those who call the Parish home. To learn more, email info@parishanglican.org
