Cinderella and the hope of Spring!

I have never been a tidy person. I have too many thoughts and get distracted in the middle of cleaning. I do crave order though, and every so often, I go crazy and clean everything like a fiend. My overwhelming memory of childhood is my mum saying “concentrate on the job at hand” I could not do it. It remains a challenge for us, when we are together, she epitomizes task oriented and I leave things like dishes half done; get partly dressed and then start reading a book. In the months after my dad died, and my relationship ended, it became even worse. There seemed little point in anything, let alone keeping a tidy home. Cups began to grow mold, laundry spilled everywhere, and my bedroom floor was covered in clothes and papers. The fierce grief and loss of the first few months of the process had an almost epic exhilaration. The pain was so raw and so complete that I produced massive amounts of adrenaline to cope with it. As the days passed, and the initial feelings subsided, the euphoria of my ability to cope diminished as well. For a month I kept myself as busy as possible, this became exhausting. I stopped planning ahead and after a massive ice storm, I just stopped. The massive feelings had subsided and I was left with a feeling of nothing, an emptiness; a kind of idle pointlessness. I felt little about anything, happy or sad. A kind of emotional hibernation. I did the things I absolutely had to, and little else.

One day I woke up early, and decided to pass the time by watching a film. I made coffee and settled myself down on the couch to lose myself in the glittering world of the Moulin Rouge. As I was slipping the DVD out of it’s case, I snapped a little too hard and the DVD snapped from top to bottom. The film was unwatchable. I was done for the day. I left my coffee cup on the table and went back to bed. I huddled, still, defeated, under the comforter (a poorly named American term, I prefer smotherer) for several hours. It was an end of winter day and the birds were singing. Honestly, at first I wanted them to shut up. It was the first time I remember hearing them that Winter, the persistent bird song awakened something in me. The Winter was not dead yet, but the birds were singing. It was a reminder, a natural hint, that there could be Spring again. There certainly was not an abundance of Spring joy in my apartment that afternoon; but there was a thought, that perhaps, everything would not always be completely frozen. I would not always be numb. I would not always want to hide. The thought chiseled at my icy, numb heart, melted at it a little.

The birds were singing and much like the Cinderella cartoon they pulled the covers back from my bed. That's not quite the truth, I lay in there feeling warm and comfortable; but I came to realize, I had a need. This was the first time in a while I had felt anything close to an emotion, and it was a completely out of character one. I felt a need to clean the kitchen. I started by gathering the filthy cups and plates from around the house. I took them into the kitchen and made a start. I had a purpose, an objective, and I started. It took me about an hour and a half to bring order to that little part of my world. It was definitely a cathartic experience. This preparation, this I looked at the warmth of my bed many times but the hibernation it offered seemed almost stifling now. An unnecessary protection, like fur coats in July. 

I was in a church choir growing up, so I have been to many, many weddings. We got paid £3 a service for weddings, it seemed like a good deal. Hymns were a staple of the service, and Great is thy Faithfulness was a top 3 choice. I still know all the words. It was fun to see the bride sneaking a smile at her husband and thinking:

“Great! This great thing has happened and great is his faithfulness.”

Maybe it was association, or the delightful way the bride sneaked a grin, or my teenage understanding but it has stuck in my head and in my heart that Great is thy Faithfulness should be written like this

GREAT! Is thy Faithfulness.

In my mind, at that moment, this was a statement of the faithfulness of God in the great things. When good things happen to us this proves God’s faithfulness. This is not incorrect, however, it is not a full picture of the faithfulness of God. It is not always in our triumphs, though He is certainly there, that we understand the vast nature of God’s faithfulness. I find it a little alarming when Christians put a lot of weight on situations ending positively as the hallmark of God’s faithfulness. I am not a prophet of doom, but actually God’s faithfulness is profoundly present when the outcome is unplanned or disappointing. As I was scrubbing the counter tops that afternoon I felt the weight of God’s Faithfulness as vast as mountains in my soul. Here in this moment, as close to depression as I have ever come, I felt his weighty and faithful presence. Great and vast like mountains. Strong and promising in my weakness. In the ability to awaken myself from emotional hibernation, God’s profound faithfulness was ministering to my disappointment and grief. His Faithfulness is vast, it is actually GREAT. There still wasn’t unending joy but the idle pointlessness subsided slowly replaced with a grave delight in the vast faithfulness of God. In short, there was the hope of Spring.