There is an Irish poet named John O’Donohue who writes blessings for many types of life experiences. In his piece “A Blessing for a Friend on the Arrival of Illness,” he says, “May you find in yourself a courageous hospitality towards what is difficult, painful, and unknown. May you use this illness as a lantern to illuminate the new qualities that will emerge in you.”
My friend Greg read this aloud at a songwriting retreat this spring, and the moment I heard it, I was moved. The poet’s words were at the same time deeply comforting and deeply provoking. Although Donohue was writing specifically of illness, his words spoke to the greater reality that each of our mortal bodies is slowly dying, yet there is wisdom and beauty to be harvested on the journey. We can use our mortality as a lantern. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy showing hospitality to others far more than I enjoy showing it to myself—especially to my fragile body.
In Psalm 103:15–16, the psalmist describes how our days are like the grass and flowers of the field that vanish. There is beauty in this fragility. But our modern culture is uncomfortable with our own mortality because we’re so removed from death—animal death, human death, even the death of our dreams. The American dream tells me I can have and do whatever my heart wants, but often what my heart wants is outside my control and slips through my fingers. It is like those grasses of the field. What endures is the life to come, our eternal inheritance that is sturdy and true and real enough to last.
Though it’s easy to admire the seemingly timeless endurance of human achievements like the great cathedrals or other wonders of the world, knowing that my own skin and bones are more susceptible to death than these is something of a paradox. How strange that these artifacts would outlive the humans who built them. But this past summer, we observed how even the grandeur of Notre Dame was not enough to protect it from being partially consumed by fire. Even what appears timeless isn’t always so.
We would be without hope if it weren’t for the promised redemption of all things. Christ is making all things new. Scripture says that “Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4–5). The hope of new heavens and a new earth and new bodies doesn’t take away the sting of these current decaying ones, but it should relieve some of the despair attached to it.
May we show ourselves a courageous hospitality. May those deep, dark, dying places inside us reveal even deeper ways to enter into the love of Jesus, no matter what season we find ourselves in. Although the process is painful, it enlarges our understanding of God and what it means to be co-heirs with Christ and His coming, eternal kingdom. This is not all there is. Mourning will end in dancing, and death will end in life.
I do not want to be a grumpy old Christian. I notice that lately my filter is thin and my opinions less charitable. It seems I don’t have the patience to play word games and fake niceties anymore. It’s not attractive. The closer I get to going to my heavenly home the less this life appeals. I see it for what it is – temporary and troubled and yet at times tremendously joyful and blessed. Mourning and dancing. I have spent years doing what good people do and not nearly enough time on deeply cultivating my soul, a soul pleasing to God. Thus my frustration and impatience. I’m living Romans 7:21-25. I long for my final days, however many they are, to be controlled by the Holy Spirit, dominated by kindness in both words and actions. I have such a ways to go to reach that goal. I stumble more than I succeed. Pray for me please.
Praying for you, Churchmouse. I’m with you. I’m wanting to age well and be more of the fragrance of Christ than a grumpy old Christian. We need mature godly women to show us the way to let go of youth and embrace our inner beauty as we are sanctified into the image of Christ.
I appreciate your thoughts!
Praying for you dear sweet Churchmouse!
Praying for you Churchmouse…and thanking God for your words here as you just articulated how I feel. May this be the prayer of my heart for the change needed in my life as well.
I don’t know you, but I cannot wait to meet you someday in Heaven. I identify with your words so often. You are used by my Savior mightily on this app. Thank you for your real and transparent commentary.
Cynthia and Churchmouse, your words struck a chord and I am with you! I want the love of Jesus to be what is beautiful about me, to be the sweet fragrance of his presence to those around me. Praying with and for all of us!
I love this. And cannot imagine that it doesn’t strike a common cord among many. Praying we can all be strong to the end. Imaging God and growing in peace as we get closer to eternity with Him.
You are not alone, sister.
This inspires me!
Thank you for you honesty! God is working within you that is evident. Praying you find peace.
Just said a prayer for you! Keep your head up and keep your eyes on Christ. May all the troubles of this world begin to fade as you lock eyes with Him.
The heaviness that I’ve been experiencing had me blinded for a while from the fact that dark seasons WILL approach you, no matter what. It is our choice whether we are going to submit to and celebrate Jesus and his everlasting joy that exists even through the tension. Praise God we can do both! Our joy is even sweeter after experiencing pain!
This is so important
I’m also reminded of John 16:33 where Jesus said, “I told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have troubles. But take heart! I have overcome the world!” With this my tears and sighs become a praise to God just like my laughters and rejoicings are. Times of mourning can be an opportunity for redirecting our focus and hopes back to God.
I struggle often with the “complex wonder” that is life. Maybe everyone does. This was comforting to read this morning as I ache to simply rest – long to go Home. There is still wonder here. There is still God. I can rest in that even as I long so desperately for something better and more.
I’m praying for you this evening Sarah—that you may know the peace and rest of our Jesus.
Life right now is hard for me and my family- with multiple examples of joy and pain in the same breath. Relying on one income and me as the breadwinner has put pressures on me that I never imagined. But it’s for a good cause- my husband is getting another degree to better support our family. This devotional reminded me that I can do both at the same time and to not dwell on the sorrows/pain but also celebrate the little things or big things in life. Thank you for this study!
I am coming up on three months since I lost my first baby. This devotional this morning is so perfect. To be able to experience death, yet also a new beginning seems so difficult for me to handle. I needed these words this morning, so thank you ❤️
I came across this devotional recently. I was searching for this exact topic. We lost our first baby this year. I delivered him on March 1st. Exactly two months later, we learned we were pregnant again. I’m currently 23 weeks, and “mourning and dancing” seems to be the story of my life right now. I cannot thank you enough for this study. I have struggled to explain the feeling of having two very strong emotions collide like this. This is so beautifully written. thank you!