On a calm Wednesday afternoon, tucked under some fluffy blankets (it’s winter here in New Zealand), I chatted to one of my best friends, Cori. As per usual, she asked me about my writing- not because she is a writer, but mainly because she cares about me like crazy and always makes sure I am doing what I love. Here’s how the conversation went:
“So what have you been doing with your writing lately?”
“Well, not much…” I paused. “Honestly, Cori, I am writing… but I feel at a bit of a standstill. I’ve been through this crazy several months of working through a lot of pain… and writing it down all the way… but now? In this season… I’m actually… happy.”
And I found, I don’t really know what to write when I am happy.
When your eyes are in a dark room, just before dawn, they are accustomed to the dark. Then slowly, slowly, the stars dwindle and the light grows ever so quietly until that full-blown sunbeam streams across the hills. You squint. You grasp for the curtains. You realise how your blankets are askew. Light comes… and joy with the morning.
Wait, I’m not in mourning any longer? How do I even comprehend this? How do my eyes adjust? Then the guilt sets in.
Oh… I’m happy. This is dangerous. I could forget God. I could forget how He’s with me when I’m in pain. I could forget all He’s done for me.
Then the whisper comes… in between the guitar and piano chords of a set in the prayer room…
Kayla… I got rid of your pain by making it mine… you are covered by the blood of Jesus…
and I saw Jesus’ sacrifice, and knew He wanted me to live on, full of joy. But somehow I still saw Jesus as the hero who died for me, and somehow that was the end of His story.
But it’s not.
Not at all.
Because then came another whisper:
There’s always a sunrise.
(There was for me, there will be for you, and there was for Jesus.)
So, where’s God when we’re happy?
Well, I believe- right next to us, laughing with the sunbeams and stars.