I know it’s a bit late to write a review of 2013. I want to say it’s because of the flurry and happy madness of Christmas and our annual two-night trip to a nearby hotel (courtesy of saved-up Tesco tokens), so I’ve not been able to write because I’ve been resting from these things. But the truth is there’s a part of me that has been dreading this post and putting it off. The real review of 2013, ‘my year of anyway’, will come soon: this is just something I had to write first.
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This year I signed up for an excellent online Advent-Epiphany spiritual reflection course, hosted by my friend Tara. As a result, I felt spiritually prepared – and rested, somehow – when Christmas came, and I really enjoyed the festive season.
Towards the end of December, I logged onto the course Fuze Call (like a Skype conference call) for the next reflective exercise: we were reviewing the year. I like reviewing things. I was looking forward to it. I smiled at the other faces popping up on the call, and settled back in my bed, my head propped up with pillows and cushions.
Start with January, she suggested. And immediately, the memory came: in January 2013 I was rushed to hospital in an ambulance because it looked very much like I was having a heart attack or pulmonary embolism.
I tried to think beyond that, to February, March, but they were all blank, and all I could think of was January and the ambulance ride. Last year I said I would write about it sometime but not now, and after a year on I am still not ready to write about it.
I tried to move on: April – blank, May – the ME relapse, the tachycardia, collapsing in the corridor, the fear.
June, July – blank, August – the fight to try to get an appointment with my ME specialist.
I watched my face in the computer screen sink lower down into the pillows and I hoped that the others wouldn’t see my tears. I tried again – but I couldn’t get past it – January, the ambulance; May, the relapse, the fear; August, the fight, the weariness.
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If you think about it, Christmas and New Year are pre-disposed to make you somewhat emotional. (There’s nothing like a season of enforced jollity to make you feel miserable.) This year I actually loved Christmas, and I was well enough to eat dinner with the family and able to watch my boy open all of his presents, and I was thankful for these precious gifts. But if Christmas doesn’t get you, New Year will: a time where you are obliged to identify all your sparkly achievements for the year and make resolutions (again) that this year things will change.
On that particular evening, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t think about 2013.
I avoided it for a day or so, tried to focus on the good things, told myself it was about the time that everyone was writing their blog posts on 2013, and I ought to do mine too. Still I couldn’t write it.
Eventually, having failed on the ignoring-and-counting-blessings tactic, I gave into the sadness. On the 30th December I took a good look at the hard parts of 2013. I felt them again, I cried. A lot. I even told God about it: “Dear Lord, that was kinda hard. I’m tired.” I let the cloud and gloom envelop me.
That was a rough day.
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It didn’t feel great, but the tears were cleansing. Even as I wiped the tears away, the positive memories and things I was proud of started to trickle in.
Sometimes you have to grieve a difficult year before you can celebrate it. Sometimes we have to feel it all before we can move on.
Sometimes we have to acknowledge that huge black cloud and let it purge all its rain before we can see the rays of the positive and precious memories, glinting and glistening.
Because I had given good attention to the black clouds of 2013, I didn’t have to work to count my blessings. I felt them pour into my mind, the happy memories of 2013, bright fireworks breaking up the darkness.
This was my year: hard, painful and full of goodness.
This is life: hard, painful and full of goodness.
I wrote them all down: the dark memories and the glints of gold. I kept writing. I kept finding things to be thankful for. There were so many glints of gold that in the end all I could see was the goodness sparkling against a dark background.
And somehow it’s the goodness that stays with me.
As I sit and read through my list of all that happened in the year, that verse pops into my head: “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, to him be the glory…” I exhale deeply, wipe tears of thankfulness, and look with a smile to 2014.
Over to you:
- How has your 2013 been?
- What do you find helps in saying goodbye to a difficult year?
“But if Christmas doesn’t get you, New Year will”
Oh Tanya, yes. You spoke my heart in this. So beautiful.
I’m in the process of all kinds of mourning, trusting that the celebration will come.
(Thanks for being in it with me).
It’s such a privilege to be your friend. I’ll be ready to celebrate with you when that time comes, too.
Thanks for this.
Completely mutual, darling.
🙂
(I loved that life as a crepe post!!)
Hi Tanya, I’m so sorry to have become a stranger here. My ability to read and stay on top of blogs and comments has greatly diminished so I tend to only dip in and out of a few now. But this.. I’m really pleased to have read it. Not to know about your really bad year in many respects but to see the golden threads of grace woven in the dark places and spaces of your life. To hear how you could let go the pain and sadness and break through to holy joy. To know you have travelled a similar path to mine and come back fighting.
You always write with a spirit of hope and kindness, love and compassion, trust and faith ~ anyway. There is grit and determination in your aching bones. Real talent and gifting in your words. True sweetness in you in spite of what you go through. And that is God at work. Please don’t feel you have to be or do any more than you feel able. We love to read your words and we love to think you are resting, reflecting and letting the Beloved smile on you. You are beautiful and you are Enough just as you are.
Praying that this will be a year for healing and breakthrough, joy and peace in His glorious Presence. Blessings and love 🙂 xx
Thank you so much for these lovely words, Joy. You are always so full of grace. And I know how you feel – I really regret not being able to read as many blogs as I used to be able to. (I’m sorry about the diminishing level of health this indicates in you).
“Please don’t feel you have to be or do any more than you feel able” – thank you so much for this freeing reminder. And back atcha. It is a pleasure to hear your voice whenever you are able to use it, and I treasure it, but I completely understand that sometimes these thing just aren’t possible. Praying this will also be a year of healing and breakthrough for you. xx
Hello Tanya,
It`s been a long time.
You are so right about needing to confront the bad stuff and then allow yourself the release of crying.
It is like the phases of an electrical storm.
The oppressive build up and the anticipation of what is in store.
The storm breaks, the rain lashes, the lightening flashes and the thunder crashes
The storm passes over, and the sun comes out. Everything in the city looks clean. In the countryside, everything looks unbelievably green; verdant. The air is fresher, the oppressive atmosphere has vanished.
You look around and see things more clearly; see the good things.
As you know, 2013 has been a bad year for my family. The worst I can remember. I have witnessed my daughter undergo the most heart breaking events, one after another. She is still suffering.
The positives are, The Lord has given me the strength to uphold my family. As the only Christian in the family, I have been the calming influence, bringing the voice of reason when the talk is of hatred, vengeance, retaliation and retribution.
I confess that sometimes, I have felt these things, but I know where they lead and have prayed for strength, and have been given it.
I am on the difficult journey of forgiving the individual who has almost destroyed us. I also pray for him, although this is difficult.
The astonishing thing is; I often feel sad, angry, despairing like anyone would, but I am not clinically depressed. Thanks be to God. He has bestowed me this gift when I need it most.
I know that in the fullness of time, my daughter will be in a good place, and 2013 will just be a nightmare she once had.
Sorry, I always seem to rant on a bit too much. Give me a keyboard and I go into overdrive.
Take care.
J.J.
“It’s like the phases of an electrical storm” – YES. So much.
I am so glad that you are not depressed, even whilst being sad and despairing. That’s such a release, and I am so thankful for that.
“I am on the difficult journey of forgiving” – it IS a journey, not an instant thing, and it is a difficult one. I believe that it is right to feel anger after an injustice has occurred, it is our spiritual thermometer for morality. That doesn’t mean we stay there, but nor do we always arrive at forgiveness instantaneously. (this is a soapbox of mine!)
Never apologise for writing lots – I always enjoy your words. Thank you.
New Year is such a strange time; we’ve chosen this time to draw the line – why? Why now? Thanks for your honesty. 2013 was actually a positive year for me but it took a lot out of me. I’m dealing with the fallout now – January and February tend to be like that for me. I can only hope (and pray) that the inner energy I need comes back when I need it!
Sometimes we need to give in to how we feel, in order to start again.
Whatever time of year…
Praying 2014 is an encouraging one for you, with lots of oasis moments.
I’m so glad 2013 was a good one for you! But I definitely know what you mean about dealing with the fallout. And Jan and Feb tend to be a bit dicey for me, too – usually the effects of Christmas. Thank you for your prayers, lovely Lucy.
I don’t want to forget to say something about how much your review of the year touched me. It’s just that my 2013 started out in hope (after a big change for which I had been praying) and has gone downhill from there. I realized as I read through the comments that I am still very much in the midst of processing the grief–about the year, but perhaps about prior griefs as well. I am practicing trusting God in a new way, in the midst of anxiety about it all. The image that has come to me in the past few days is that of God helping me ride a bike for the first time without training wheels–and without His hand on the bike. A challenge but a necessary step! The blessings have been (and always have been) people: new friends, old friends back in touch, longtime friends with whom I can just pick up where we left off. As I’ve said before, you and your blog have been wonderful. Your readers are some of the few whose comments I actually read; what a supportive group! Blessings for all of us for 2014.
I’m so sorry that your year went so badly after starting in such hope. But I love how you are ‘reframing’ it with the image of God teaching you to ride without training wheels. There is such hope and grace in that image.
And thank you for your kind words about my blog. And you’re right – the comments on this blog are always worth reading. I am so grateful for this amazing community of people who drop by here with such wisdom and encouragement. It feels like a holy and safe space to be in. I’m so glad you feel that too. With blessings for a grace-filled year in 2014.
I so felt for you as you described that conference call and then Dec. 30. Those realizations…that grief…can hit out of nowhere. I’m sorry for that pain. I had never fully considered the impact of the holidays in the ways you mentioned. It is so true.
I’m in my eighth month of a relapse that has left me mostly housebound. This year was not at all what I imagined and I don’t know what lies ahead. I have also found I need to acknowledge and grieve before I can move on to that place of gratitude. It’s helpful to know I’m not alone.
Thank you for all you have shared with us this year. On Dec. 30, my husband and kids decided we should have a family ‘Coffee House’ – each of us submitting something creative, whether it be a poem or story we’d written, artwork…whatever. I’d done some watercolor paintings, but wasn’t up to writing anything original. Instead, I decided to read something that inspired me this year. I choose your ‘Do It Anyway’ post and it was fitting for so many reasons I can’t begin to explain. I can never get through it without a lump in my throat. It’s just so powerful…and they loved it as much as I do. God is using you for ministry, even though it doesn’t look like you thought it would.
“I’m in my eighth month of a relapse that has left me mostly housebound.” I just sat and paused when I read that. I know that that one little sentence communicates something big, and that it must have been written accompanied by no small degree of disappointment and confusion and loss.
Your story about sharing my post for your Coffee House thing (Loved that idea, by the way!) made me cry. I can’t really express how much your words mean to me. Thank you.
Thank you, Tanya. Your response brought tears to my eyes…of course you would recognize the impact of those words. I’m sorry you understand it only too well, but appreciate the compassion and grace you so willingly share with others.
I’m sending you the hugest hug that one can send virtually. X
I love you. You are amazing.
Thanks, girl. And back atcha.
Thank you for sharing Tanya. The verse which comes to mind is ‘those who sow in tears will reap in joy’psalm 126:5-6. A passage God gave me a while ago, one He reminds me of regularly and I myself have blogged on.
It has been a difficult year for many I believe. I myself have been wrestling with being diagnosed with CFS while training for ordination, and sharing in the journey’s of friends and family as they have faced some of their darkest periods of life thus far.
One firework in my dark skyline has been here, your blog. A place I regularly read of God’s small mercies which reveal how blessed I am. A place of heart-wrenching honesty where God’s light shines through. A place of creativity and inspiration, of willingness and obedience to God.
So many things about this particular blog strike me, your impressionable illustrations, the thought that in grieving releases us from our own clouds shadow and brings not only rays but beams of light (something I always intrinsically knew but have never seen written or expressed before), but most of all, your parting words. This year has been gut-wrenchingly difficult, my ‘bitter-sweet’ year as I have dubbed it….my life. Highs, lows, blessings and bruises, smiles and tears stains. Friends I study with and I have been challenged in this though to raise one hand in praise as we use the other to wipe the tears away.
In the words of Matt Redman ‘Standing on this mountain top, looking just how far we’ve come, knowing that for every step, you were with us. Scars and troubles on the way, but with joy our heart will say, yes our hearts will say. Never once, did we ever walk alone, never once did you leave us on our own, you are faithful, you are faithful…’
Thank you so much for this thoughtful, kind comment.
I’m so sorry that you’re suffering from CFS whilst training for ordination. I know that the road to ordination can be really long, and training can already feel like the endpoint of a long journey. I imagine you would feel that frustration of the gap between what you want to do/feel called to do, and that which you are physically able to do. It can be so hard to judge, as well, what is too much, what is enough.
“One firework in my dark skyline has been here, your blog” – this means so much. Thank you so much for your lovely words about my blog. And I love that image of raising one hand in praise as we use the other to wipe the tears away. LOVE it. That is so often how it is – and it can take so much strength and courage to lift that hand in praise. (are you a writer, too?)
Thank you.
Thank you so much for this Tanya, you have indeed explained how the road to ordination is, both from a ‘normal’ perspective and in having the illness. A daily choice of ‘what I am not going to do today?!’ Something one only conceives when one battles daily with this contradiction to their nature themselves.
In answer to your question of whether I am a writer; I am flattered you ask. A novice blogger with a dream of writing I think sufficiently covers it. I had the joy of partaking in creative writing classes during my first degree and seek to do more. Any suggestions? All would be most welcome!
‘What am I not going to do today?’ – yes!
And – aha! – I knew you were a writer!
I have really benefited from the encouragement of the Story Sessions community. http://thestorysessions.com It’s a group of women who connect via a Facebook group and ‘meet’ regularly via Fuze (like Skype) for online write-ins. I love it.
Also try http://lisajobaker.com on Fridays for a five-minute-Friday prompt – I find it keeps me sharp!
I hope you find time amidst the chaos and illness to pursue your writing.