When the Door Shuts

I walked into the pantry and jerked back. Instantly confused and simultaneously stunned.  Some of the classic items were still on the shelves, but the majority of the shelving system was bare… empty.  I turned from my stunned position to look at my mom and process out loud, when had it last looked like this? Amused at the unfiltered reaction she just witnessed, she answered with a soft, knowing smile, “Probably when we were moving in”.   

I know that a moving truck is scheduled for Friday.  

For seven years my mom has lived in our family house alone, which has allowed her time to truly decide which pieces are her favorites, which pieces make sense to move, and which are better to be left for an estate sale.  She has been systematically sorting through cupboards and closets, preparing and repairing that old house for new owners.  

The feelings about this move would never fit in one box labeled either happy or sad.  

An “either-or”... 

It is far too simplistic.   No, I am a firm believer in the “both-and” of life.  It is the belief that, unlike mathematics, the positives and negatives do not always end up cancelling each other out. It is the belief that both categories of emotions can coexist without invalidating the other. 

Ever since my dad left the complex reality of the both-and has become abundantly clear.  I can be overjoyed for my brother at his wedding and simultaneously grieve the fact my Dad decided to not even attend.  The radiating joy of his wedding day does not make our father’s absence somehow easier or less sad or less wrong; nor does his absence detract from the pride and joy I feel overflowing for my brother on that day.  

When I gave birth to my daughter there was both a physical pain and exhaustion unlike I had ever experienced before, but there was also indescribable elation.  When they handed me that tiny warm body and I held my baby for the very first time, the exhaustion and pain I felt did not take away from the experience, in many way it added to or heightened it. It was an unforgettable both-and.

So I find myself fighting the unspoken rule to emphasize only the “positive” and minimize the hard in order to not leave people with the wrong impression. 

No, I have come across people who just understand the both-and in life. You describe both occurring and they simply nod in silent agreement. They know. The terrible and beautiful reality of the both-and has changed them too.

People who have been tested by fire and yet remained faithful. I crave the opportunity for raw conversations with people like that.  With them, there is no need for qualifying all you say, as if some balance ought to be struck; they instead provide space to just speak both truths and let them sit there side by side, simultaneously true.

Maybe someone is facing suffering you cannot fathom walking through yourself, yet somehow simultaneously and perplexingly describes and exudes a peace, a bed-rock steadiness, or even a joy in life.  They speak of God’s love, His indescribable peace, and may even do so through tears….

We can quickly default to being skeptical, concluding people like that are trying to just convince themselves or you, to buffer themselves from actually facing the pain. 

But that skepticism shatters when you look in the eyes and the life of someone you know and you see it is somehow real—that is the undeniable, the remarkable both-and. 

To me, speaking both feels more authentic and in many ways more biblical when we think about life this side of heaven. I believe terrible pain can sit right beside “God is good”. I believe shaking my head and having no answers can actually coexist with how God’s faithfulness is simultaneously playing out before my eyes. 

To me, the reality of both reveals Christ’s completely unique work in a powerful way.  And to avoid it not only creates a fake reality where life somehow is not allowed to be excruciating, but also cheapens the power of Christ on the cross.

On one hand I am ready and excited for my mom and for our family, for the incredible new home where countless new memories are going to be created.  There is so much good, so much blessing, so much WOW happening during this move.  And yet, I was also blindsided by emotion just the other night.  Decades worth of memories with a faithful, loving father fill every room, every hallway, every quirky feature of that old Victorian home.  Picturing that house empty, picturing the door being shut felt suddenly and suffocatingly like a grave. 

I do not know the why. I do not know what triggered that realization out of nowhere. But what I do know is it felt like getting whacked by a two by four I never even saw coming.  Imagining the quiet, probably unnoticed, but truly final closing of that green door ushered in a wave of grief I did not expect to ride. 

Something about not having access to “the house that built me” to re-spark and resurrect memories of a life that can sometimes feel so hard to reach these days…

Well, ultimately, that is why I am here.  Allowing the complex currents stirring deep inside to make their way up to the surface. The ones that sometimes cannot be defined, packaged up neatly and labeled. Allowing those unexpected waves of grief to ripple all the way up to the surface in a very imperfect, unsorted way. 

I will probably cry when I listen to that song by Miranda Lambert or when I drive by at night and slow to a stop so I can look at that old porch and try to actively remember when lights were still on and life with our dad filled that house. 

And 

I will love walking into that new house and smelling my mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies baking. I will love hearing my little ones’ feet patter around their Grandma’s house. I will love sitting on that new couch and talking with my mom about the faithfulness and the goodness of the Lord. 

Both are true.