DESOLATION & LOSSES

Words that start with the letter “d” feature some of the most dreaded words in life, another “d” word. Think death, disease, debt, divorce, depression, just to name a few and our hearts sink deep in dread. Then there are words that begin with “dis” or “de,” certainly not to say that all words that begin with dis- or de- are all dread but you get my point.

One word I feel today, being honest with myself, is desolation. What I am supposed to feel are consolation and even exhilaration. We are in Korea yet again for the 7th time since 2021. My schedule is packed which I interpret as God’s affirmations that we are moving in the right direction and speed. We feel connected with a number of groups and are engaged in deeper and more meaningful ways. My book is supposedly doing just fine as it went into the second print run less than two months after the initial release according to my publisher. There are graceful favors and open doors everywhere, it seems. My head tells me to feel consolation, but my heart today feels desolation.  

This morning after sitting with my desolation for a day, I discovered one of the culprits of my desolation as if I needed a scapegoat to blame—we are not in Yangpyeong this time. Rather than waking up to the rising of birds and cool crisp early fall air, we are awakened by the numbing clamor of traffic and the bustling city life, and less impressive air than in Yangpyeong, for sure. Rather than being surrounded by late summer’s vibrant nature, we are surrounded by concrete jungle and makeshift or smaller patches of nature that simply do not compare. Nature that is not natural violates the essence of nature. I knew this coming in. We had made a decision not to go back to the place where we stayed since the house got sold. The new owner corresponded in ways that needed risky blind trust on our part. In the end, I politely bowed out by not burning the bridge for possible later use. Though I believe it still was the right decision, I find myself second-guessing the decision mainly arising out of my desolation.

These days, I have also found that I desire stability especially when it comes to home of our own space more than I care to admit. This has been a surprise finding as I have thrived in the past and perhaps even romanticized the notion of a bohemian lifestyle, living like the wind. I tell myself today that I do not need to arrive at a solution but just sit with it—acknowledge and accept.

Another revelation that is not a surprise is my desire to be surrounded by nature and to lead a quiet and contemplative life. And to extend the contemplative space to others as gift and be a channel of healing and restoration. . . The more expansive my soul becomes, the more generous and hospitable space I can offer to others. Nature teaches such expansiveness and embodies life as it is and as it happens. This is the teacher I miss.

Going beyond the immediacy of Yangpyeong that is not, there has been incredible gain when it comes to our future, where and what God is calling us, open doors, unmerited favors, and timely provisions. Coming out of our sabbatical in 2020, God has held our hands and led us every step of the way with intimacy and care. As much as gains, there have been significant losses as well. Simply because there has been so much gain, losses dwarfed in comparison. As such, losses have not received enough timely attention. However, as the losses have been mounting up, I have been acknowledging and naming each loss so I can properly bring closure.

Certainly, not being in Yangpyeong is the most recent loss. Leaving an organization and the people whom I served for 35 years was a significant loss even though God clearly led us out. In my present life, there are more funerals to attend than the weddings. Being present and saying earthly goodbyes to people I have known are losses that I can never change. Then there are those who are battling significant illnesses and facing serious health challenges, signaling to me more losses may just be on the way. As ecstatic as I am, the wedding of my son, Michael, and Gloria is some ways a loss since Michael moved out from our home. Donating and discarding our furniture and belongings so we can downsize and get ready for our overseas “assignment” early next year is yet another loss, albeit mundane and necessary. Our friends and the family moved out of the community, on the day we departed to Korea, which we called home for decades is another loss, not to mention other families and neighbors who moved out from the community last year.

Today, I give myself permission to express and own my sense of desolation, not what I should feel. In this space of desolation, I feel both helpless and hopeful. Helpless because I feel stuck as I realize there is plainly not much I can do to change any of the losses. Hopeful because I am not in charge and because I cannot see everything clearly. And that’s a good and hopeful thing. On a more primal level, I feel hopeful because losses are not really losses but gains eventually and in God’s timing. My desolation is met with a loving gaze of God’s grace and thus is a consolation. As nature teaches so well, death is not death but the beginning of new life. The vibrancy and flourishing of life in spring always arrives after every dead or “lifeless” winter.