death, where is thy sting?

jk i found it

It’s spooky season. I’m not sure if decorating one’s yard with a barrage of plastic ghouls is something specifically akin to the PNW, or if having lived in the Bible belt for 25 years kept me from this level of spookery, but I’m over it. My small Sam is obsessed with all things spooky. He keeps pointing to different houses, naming the creatures he sees hanging from trees and doorways, telling me which of the spookies are “nice” and which ones are “mean”. I’m not 100% sure how to keep his innocence more or less intact when one street over our neighbors have animated Chucky dolls that swing knives and cackle, but I’m trying. Needless to say that our daily bike route has changed probably until mid-November.

That said, David and I are not total sticklers on Halloween. Sam has a fireman costume he is chomping at the bit to try out, and his cousins gifted him a pumpkin bucket to gather candy. Our church will host an All Hallow’s Eve bonfire and the kids will have the opportunity to go trick-or-treating together in the neighborhood. I personally love All Saint’s Day. After my mom passed away seven years ago, I take any opportunity I’m given to talk about her and share her legacy of hospitality and love. Learning about the saints and their legacies has given my faith so much more strength than it used to have. I’ll never understand why so many modern churches shy away from talking about the lives of the saints when they were and are great examples of what faith in the midst of struggle and lament looks like. But that’s a soapbox for another time.

A blurry Sam lights his jack-o-lantern, 2022

Maybe this year in particular, westernized Halloween seems more ridiculous to me than ever. Any adult can tell you that the words “It’s not you, it’s me” or “Rent is due” can elicit more fear than any creature from the Halloween universe. We are much closer to the bottom dropping out than we think. One surprise from the doctor, one unexpected phone call, one email from the supervisor. It’s all so much more fragile than we think. 

To my point, it’s been a particularly spooky week for us. I spent one morning, well before 9am, calling different specialists' offices, trying to find a doctor that could see my son in a shorter time frame. Wait lists are a helluva thing, and to the desperate parent, they feel a bit like jail time. Every second you don’t have help is a second you can drown under the fatigue of the unknown. 

In the midst of our parenting struggles, David was laid off. His boss was apologetic and he will receive severance, but there’s a feeling of “well, now what?” that pervades our home. David is skilled, bright, and determined–he is already working to make his time unemployed short, but the news rattled us all. We just moved, just bought a house, and are just now trying to establish ourselves for the long haul. The timing is awful, but bad timing usually is. 

These shaky moments feel like little deaths. Winters that sneak up on us without much warning. Moments that feel scary because what comes next is unknown. As a planner and a naturally anxious person, I feel these winters deeply. I see my son struggling and I am unsure how to help him and a part of me dies every time I fail to love him well. I see my husband work ridiculously hard just to be disappointed (again) by a company and a leader that can’t seem to see his worth. What does strength look like when you’re knocked off course and there doesn’t seem to be a clear path forward? What happens when snow falls and you're barefoot?

I’ve been reading Katherine May’s “Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times” and her perspective on these little winters has been grounding me in our own personal spooky season. In a time of illness and unrest, May’s family travels to Iceland where she finds more respite in the arctic chill than on any resort beach. She says, “What’s the point in migrating to a warmer country for a couple of weeks to push winter away? It’s just delaying the inevitable. I want to winter in the cold, embrace the change it brings, acclimatise.” 

I too have always found clarity in the colder months. I am at my most creative when the world goes to sleep. The wind bites at my face and the sharpness of a hard inhale helps me remember that I am, in fact, alive. Which, in this case, is better than the alternative. May goes on to say “I’m certain the cold has healing powers that I don’t yet come close to understanding. After all, you apply ice to a joint after an awkward fall. Why not do the same to a life?” 

Years ago I learned about the process of abscission that leaves go through when they change in the fall. Katherine May talks about it in “Wintering” as well, and it strikes a chord in me I’ve felt before. As the chlorophyll drains from the leaves in fall, colors that were always present are revealed. Technically it’s not death at all–it's the process of once again making all things new. 

Two days ago I sat across the table from David at lunch while Sam was napping. We realized while talking that there’s an honesty and an energy in both of us that wasn’t there a week ago. He’s been frustrated with this job for a while and now, while untimely, he’s been set free. Free to consider other options, free from poor communicators, free to dream about what he’d like to do, rather than what he feels he has to do. Even with our ongoing struggles to find the help Sam needs, we’ve had a few really good days with him that makes everything feel possible, in time. 

Most every Christian knows the verse in 1 Corinthians 15:55 that starts with “Oh Death, where is thy sting?” but The Message paraphrases that verse in a truly beautiful way:

"But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die–but we are all going to be changed.”

There’s a lot of change and a boatload of mystery in our lives right now. Death’s sting, while not victorious, is still real. Knowing there’s victory over it is a wonderful promise, but death still stings. It just does. I have no idea what’s coming next, but for the first time in a while, I’m ok with that. For now, I’m going to attempt to embrace the spookiness of the season. I’m hoping that the ice being applied in our lives brings about change. I’ll let the green in my heart fade and allow the yellow, red, brown of autumn to teach me whatever I need to learn. Tonight, I’ll light the jack o'lantern on our porch and be warmed by his tiny fire. It’s dim, but even in spooky season, I can see the light.

Always,

Emily

real life moment: This post brought to you by a perfect chicken pot pie crust. My secret? Have a toddler cut the butter in asymmetrical chunks all while melting it slightly with his warm hands. It’s counterintuitive, but it always makes our dough the perfect consistency.