Every fall, like the leaves who become bold about being themselves, the longing I always carry rises to the surface of my skin like a thick layer of clothing. My ever-melancholy mind feels made for this in-between season of fire and crimson, surrender and slow ends.
Every pile of leaves, every dark and cold morning, every waft of campfire carried in an October blue sky breeze, reminds me of this season in years and places past. I think of: walking through leaf piles on campus in Bloomington while letting the sad books I was reading shape how I saw the world, or the smell of hänchen roasting in a food truck parked outside Edeka while living in Freiburg, and how my own weary hopes during that time would rise with the tendrils of steam floating up from the truck, or my kids dressing in Halloween costumes and posing on the porch for the camera, excited for candy, while I held the feelings and struggles our family carries beneath the surface of their pure energy.
It’s this particular season, more than any other, that pulls on and pokes at all of my senses and feelings and reminds me of places that never had closure, memories of goodbyes that still feel tender, and a deep sense and sight towards all the un-tended and un-mended things in the world.
I used to think I was, as Jo March says, “hopelessly flawed,” because of how deeply I felt things, as if it were a curse to carry, but now I know otherwise. Though it’s possible to be stuck and unhealthy in feelings or to wield those feelings into harmful actions or reactions (as it is with most things in life), this natural tendency to feel deeply is one of my greatest gifts. Maybe no one has ever told you that it’s one of yours too. Learning to steward this gift, care for it, and use it to foster healing, connection, hope, and peacemaking in the world, is no small thing.
Maybe you’ve been over-warned about the danger of your feelings. Maybe you’ve learned to carry doubt and distrust in your back pockets and you’ve become adept at pulling both out whenever you feel anything “too” deeply. Maybe you’ve also been fed the lie that feelings are a liability to a life of faith.
I read this Dostoyevsky quote on Twitter last week, and I’ve been carrying it around in the back of my mind, ever since:
“My brother used to ask the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless but it is right; for all is like the ocean, all things flow and touch each other; a disturbance in one place is felt at the other end of the world.” -Fyodor Dostoyevsky
These days I’m sure those of us who feel deeply don’t need more separation between the facts and our feelings, we need to continue to be people who know how to feel what others feel. We need feelers who are courageous enough to listen to their feelings long enough to understand them. We need linguists who are fluent in the language of the heart: those who not only know how to translate the names and definitions of feelings, but know how to find the the etymology of them. We need hearts that can remain tender to the birds and the leaves falling free, for those are hearts that will stay tender to others and tethered to a God who chose to feel what we feel, to be like us and with us, and to weep while we weep.
Your deep feelings are not a hindrance; they are a map to the untraveled places of the heart.
Your tears are not a burden in the world; they are treasure that the Creator of the universe keeps.
Grateful and shalomsick,
An bright light:
Social media has its problems, like most things… but I also see the ways it can be used for good. I’m grateful for the connections I’ve made there. There are people who are fueling hope and doing good things in the world and I’d like to use this little space to share some of them with you from time to time.
Just this week over coffee, I met a new friend through an old friend, thanks to a social media connection, and she is both inspiring and delightful. She’s a children’s book author (order her book here) with a heart for racial representation, an educator for medical students, a leader who is serving and impacting others in a number of local communities, and a bright light of hope.
Jalysa is warm, gentle, creative, and brilliant. Find and follow her on Instagram, here.
A Shalomsick read:
Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford
I started this melancholy book weeks ago, but stopped reading because there was too much going on in my life at the time. I picked it up again a few days ago and I’m staying up way too late because it’s so beautiful and good.
This little light of mine doesn’t help and I’ve posted a link to find it in case you need one too:
What are you reading right now?
Thank you for this. I'm a deep feeler myself and always used to think it was a curse, but I'm learning to see and use it as a blessing.
Beautiful words, and love the subtitle word play too 💖