Hello again,

Given all the topics I could bring to the table (or screen) I am sure you’re wondering, why darkness? In the midst of a pandemic, why not find the silver lining? Perhaps I ought to talk about parenting, or cooking, or the adventures of online dating. I have certainly gone on enough bad dates to keep you happily entertained for hours with those stories, but it seemed to me that now is the perfect time to finally talk about what has changed me the most in life. This virus has brought out all kinds of darkness for many of us. For some people, your darkness lives within the four walls of your house and is now completely inescapable. I see you. These words are for you.

I vividly remember sitting in the quiet a few weeks after my divorce. I had tucked my sweet child in, so I had an hour or two before she would be awake again and I would face the long hours of the night with a sick, crying baby. I was searching for words that would soothe this unending ache I held in my chest and called a heart. Life then was ridiculously difficult. I had lived years feeling as if God was stealing away all that I held dear. I learned I couldn’t even pray for sleep, because spending every night holding my daughter while she squirmed in pain taught me that God wouldn’t bring me even two hours of consecutive sleep. It completely robbed me of the ability to believe that God could love me, even a little. Everything was dark then, but the nights were particularly grueling. It was then that I stumbled upon a poem by Mary Oliver. I read it, and then reread it. I held those words very carefully. It is simply entitled The Uses of Sorrow.

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

I sat, completely stunned. Oh how I knew what a box of darkness felt like. I couldn’t begin to fathom what it would be like to one day regard this moment as a gift. To be honest, I was pretty sure I didn’t want that to be true. What I really wanted was to stop the agony and be back to life as I had believed that it would be. But that dream had shattered. I had learned not to dream anymore. However, that night planted a seed. I could feel a tiny tendril of hope unfurling. I knew then that if it could be true, if one day I could be far enough into the light to find this darkness a gift, I wanted in.

It’s been five years since that night. Half a decade. I live in a different house now. My daughter feels almost half grown. I no longer walk in the darkness, but things didn’t change overnight. Mary said it took years, and it did for me too. In this freedom, I hope to create a space here where you can bring your darkness and know that you are safe. There are no “at least”s here. This is not a competition. My darkness may look totally different than yours. It probably does. But if you’re drowning and you feel alone or unheard, then I hope you join me. I have no real idea what God has in store for these letters. But I do know that you are loved, and known, and cared for deeply. God is a god who rescues. There is no place so dark that his love cannot reach. As I share my journey, feel free to say hello and tell me a bit about yours. Next time I’ll fill in some of the backstory. And hopefully bring some light.

All my love,

Becca