During the winters of my life, I often relied on the wisdom from Ecclesiastes. In chapter 3, King Solomon describes how there is a time for everything, a time for weeping and a time for laughing, a time for mourning and a time to dance.
At one point in my life, I seriously thought sorrow was all I’d ever know. I would go to sleep with a heavy heart and wake up with an endless stream of tears. Anxiety coursed through my body with a debilitating power, absolving me of my appetite, leaving me lifeless. Love felt foreign and far off. My grief was far too great to hold, and so I hollowed out my heart instead.
During those dark days, I would listen to many sermons from John Piper, helplessly seeking hope. I stumbled upon his message, “Sorrowful but always rejoicing.” It changed me. Over and over, I thought to myself, I am sorrowful, but always rejoicing.
In John 9, Jesus heals a man who had been blind since birth. Doing so showcased His healing power, compassion, and love in a way that would not have been possible if the man had been born with vision. Our weaknesses are an opportunity to glorify the majesty of God. This story encouraged me to invite Jesus into the the broken cracks of my life. In doing so, He began to replace my song of mourning to a song of rejoicing.
As the sun comes out and the flowers bloom, I reflect on the ways in which God has kept His promises to me as I have continued to abide in Him. I recognize how at peace I am, remembering the way anxiety once crippled me. I notice joy overwhelming my heart, when I once only knew sorrow. Now, whether I’m painting, writing, or walking outside, I do it all as a song of praise to the One who saved me and never left me, not even in the winters.
The Ophelia Edit 