Time Suspended

Living and growing in the dark

I feel, as we enter February, we need to begin here:

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty“ Psalm 91:1

Aren’t we all in need of shelter and a safe place? We are in a season of collective grief over the evil that is happening in our world. Events we never imagined are unfolding before our eyes. A reckoning is occuring. Our nervous systems are on high alert and we need to find a place of stillness and safety– of deep rest. Sometimes that rest comes in the form of darkness, in shadow, in hidden places we would rather not enter. Even as we dwell in the shadows, we know we are companioned.

Good Things Grow in the Dark

I returned home after a month away – a month full of angst, revelations, disappointments, moments of beauty, hope, and medical trauma – to find the hellebore I was overwintering in my basement was in full bloom.

What a delight to find this gift of beauty.

Those blooms reminded me that good things grow in the dark and in cold winter seasons. When I left home, the plant was just a few sticks protruding out of the soil, and now there are numerous stems loaded with dark pink blossoms.

In times past Hellebores were referred to as Oracle roses because they were used to forecast the weather.

“Mainly in the countryside, there was a tradition of putting twelve hellebore flower buds in a glass of water before Christmas, each of them representing one month of the following year. If a bud opened to a flower by Christmas Eve, the weather was predicted to be good for that particular month. If it did not open, poor weather was to be expected.”¹

I occasionally checked in on my plants via our Ring security system and it looked as though many buds had opened by Christmas day so maybe I can assume good weather is here for a while. So far, since we have been back at home, it has been mostly full of sunshine. I take that as a good omen.

Hellebores have become a symbol of resilience and the promise of spring and brighter days because of their ability to bloom while snow still covers the ground.² Their presence in my home was like a little shot of hope to my weary heart.

Suspended Time

My month away from home felt like an interval of time out of time. Like I was held in some sort of liminal space, where all around me life went on as usual, but mine was paused. There were no familiar rhythms or vistas to tether me to ordinary time. I wrote this poem to try to capture how I felt.

OUT OF TIME

Each moment stretched for days

it seemed

the hours were eons

as we awaited news.

Time passed differently for us,

we were caught in a wrinkle

where the normal laws did not apply.

The world still rushed past

but we were suspended,

waiting,

vacillating between fear and hope.

I know I am not the only one who has experienced this time out of time. Maybe you too have navigated this kind of liminal space.

Maybe you have recently stood in a darkened room, surrounded by the sounds of machines beeping and voices on the intercom, watching over your loved one. Maybe you breathed voiceless prayers as you held their hand, entreating God to come near. You were caught in a time-out-of-time also.

Perhaps you have been one of those sidelined by sickness this season. You also experienced a pause, an in-between space.

Feel free to share your experience of being in the in-between space and I will hold you in the Light.

Our Important Work

I was disoriented during that time. Everything was slowed. Each step felt leaden, like I walked with concrete shoes. Every task, no matter how mundane, required extra effort. Breathing became labor. Naps were necessary. This time was also a comfort. All pressure to perform was released, and I had no choice but to be present to all that was happening inside my heart. Maybe it was a gift in disguise.

Maybe this pause allowed me to experience my emotions more truly, more fully. It offered time to honor what was true within me that I would often rather not see.

I am adept at pushing emotions aside. I wonder if you too had the experience while growing up, of having to hide your emotions, or at least make them more manageable in size or intensity. Unconsciously I had been trained to refuse space or consideration for my emotions. I was told they were suspect, not to be trusted. Over the years I have realized how this left me stunted.

I have come to see that our emotions are part of what is true about us. They tell us what matters. They are like indicator lights in the car, telling us when something needs to be tended to.

Maybe we are too quick to try to get back to “normal”. There is pressure from within and without to get back at it. Maybe the grappling with our inner angst/grief etc. feels too difficult, takes too much time, and gets us nowhere in this capitalist society, so we rush to be over and done with it – done and dusted as my UK friend would say. This inner work is not valued in the same way as all that we produce.

But maybe, after all, this is the most crucial work we can do.

For all That is Growing

January has been my threshold month. I am slowly reintegrating into ordinary time and all that it requires of me. It has been good to go slow. To let my mind catch up to my body. I realize I just recently posted this same quote, and yet I still need to hear it,

“We stop, whether by choice or through circumstance, so that we can be alert and attentive and receptive to what God is doing in and for us, in and for others, on the way. We wait for our souls to catch up with our bodies.” (Eugene Peterson)

I want to be one of those people who set goals in the new year, make new exercise and meal plans, and has a guiding word of the year. I also want to be a person who honors the season I am in, who offers grace to herself, and continues to believe that we can begin anew on any day of the year. So, if you are like me and stepping into February with some trepidation, you are not alone.

I read this poem recently and maybe it will resonate for you as it did for me.

Eye Mask by Mary Oliver

In this dark I rest,

unready for the light which dawns

day after day,

eager to be shared.

Black silk, shelter me.

I need

more of the night before I open

eyes and heart

to illumination. I must still

grow in the dark like a root

not ready, not ready at all.

For all that is growing in the dark, may we offer time and space for the work to be completed.

BOOKS

Looking Up: A Birder’s Guide to Hope Through Grief by Courtney Ellis

I took this book along with me when we left home in the middle of December. I love birds and one of the joys of life at this stage is to feed and watch them. The fact that this book combined birds with grief sold me. I anticipated a difficult month ahead. This book was a gentle companion as I worked through the large and small griefs of the past year, while also walking into a situation of more loss. Courtney’s voice is gentle, thoughtful, and real. She presented a portrait of grief that included all of life – for we never can separate it out, everything is intertwined. We hold grief and joy together, as well as, perhaps, an obsession with birds.

Theo of Golden by Levi Allen

I was influenced to buy this book. I saw so many people recommending it online, that I decided I needed to purchase it for myself for Christmas. At first, I started off cynical– this was too sweet, too full of goodness, so unrealistic. And yet, I was at a place where I deeply needed kindness and hope, and a reminder of goodness. I needed a cozy read. As I settled into the story, the gentleness of it provided a needed salve for my shattered soul. Theo offered the gift of seeing other people and listening to their stories. He offered love and affirmation in return. A loving and supportive community was formed as a result of this one man who came to the town of Golden.

All the Hard Things by Sarah Freymuth

I am not typically fond of devotionals, but I make an exception for this lovely one. I am reading an advance copy (pre-orders are now available on Amazon). Sarah writes honestly about difficult seasons in our lives. I feel seen as I read her words. She acknowledges the pain of finding ourselves in dark places. Without handing us platitudes, she points us toward hope.

CAN’T WAIT

I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of this book on my doorstep, The Place Between our Pains – A Memoir of What Joy Can Survive by K.J. Ramsey. She writes so beautifully about the hard. I know there will be hope within these pages, some spicy language, and some K.J. quirkiness. This is a voice you can trust because she has been through it!!

Slow

That work in the dark we considered earlier is slow work.

But SLOW is not a bad word! (although it has always had negative connotations to me). It may be frustrating but slow might also be the pathway to what we most need.³

Slow growth could mean growing something deep and lasting rather than precarious.

Perceived slowness in healing could just mean that time is needed for the layers to heal. No quick fixes or slapping a bandage over a deep wound.

A slow slipping away of a loved one gives us time to remember, to linger in the memories while we can still hold their hand. Maybe our view of the value of a life can be transformed and healed in this slowness.

When time feels too fast for our liking, maybe it is an invitation to slow our pace, to linger longer in moments of connection and beauty. Cultivate what matters most and let the rest go.

Here’s to a slow 2026!

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Thank you for being here!

1. https://www.helleborus.de/en/plant-facts/curiosities-and-legends

2. https://bloomcollege.com.au/blog/the-story-of-hellebores-from-history-to-healing/

3. I was inspired to consider the word Slow by my friend Cathy Leyland and her book, Whispered Wisdom.