Are you going through a hard middle season, with an unknown future, where grief is trying to steal your joy? A couple years ago, I wrote the following essay on a season like this, and I feel it’s time to share it with you.
My Hard Middle
I walked the mile to the farm on the rarest of evenings: cool instead of hot and humid in August. Alone since my children and husband were elsewhere. A strong, silent longing called me there.
My great-grandparents bought the property 70 years ago. The only person left there now is my grandma, who is still going strong in her eighth decade. I don’t know how much longer she will be able stay, and I don’t know what will happen when she can’t.
Our family farm is in the hard middle, like so many other farms in the Midwest. The old times are gone when generations of families kept cultivating the same land. Now, family members either can’t afford to buy the farm or don’t want it for themselves. Our family farm will likely belong to someone else all too soon.
As I walked the property, the memories began pouring out, and my tears of grief began falling.
Our family farm is in the hard middle, like so many other farms in the Midwest. The old times are gone when generations of families kept cultivating the same land. #grief #farm #comfort Click To Tweet
Grief in the Hard Middle
I surveyed all the familiar sights on this farm I know so well. The site of the shed where my great-grandpa raised piglets, when that was still profitable for small farms. I remember watching the piglets fight over their rightful spaces near their mamas. I can still smell that pungent pig smell inside the wooden structure that no longer exists.
Here is where the smokehouse stood. My whole family would gather on butchering days. The scent of hickory smoke takes me back to age three, watching the women wrapping hams the men hung up for curing. I can still hear the crinkling of the waxed paper.
The long-gone flowerbed where my great-grandma planted tulips, dianthus, and sweet peas. I inherited her love of flowers, her curly hair, and her sharp memory. I remember her weathered hands so skilled at making coffeecakes, stitching quilts, and gathering eggs.
This is the pond where my mom once caught a 12-pound catfish. How many times have we all gathered here for fish fries, laughter, and fellowship? When was the last time? I can’t remember. It’s been too long since Grandpa’s passing, which was like removing the center of a wheel. All the spokes have scattered.
Here is the plot where Grandpa and Grandma shared their garden space with me. I harvested more than 100 baby pumpkins that year, when I was a new mom in need of adult conversation. They doted on my baby boy while I built ab muscles, hauling the water hoses back and forth.
This is the place of so many happy Christmases, hearty lunches and good times. The steady, secure, healing place for me as a child of divorce. This is where I learned about life, love and God.
I know this place, every inch. Today I wish I could keep it forever as a constant source of comfort.
I know this place, every inch. Today I wish I could keep it forever as a constant source of comfort. #familyfarm #grief #testimony Click To Tweet
The Shocks of the Hard Middle
I have been surprised by shocks in this hard middle. Change arrives unbidden. Plans shoot off in unexpected directions. Grief springs up sudden and unwelcome.
In the hard middle, you wonder if your heart will ever be fully healed. You crave comfort more than ever.
I wonder if the disciples felt these mixed emotions in their hard middle. They had been shocked by Jesus’ crucifixion and death. They were terrified of what came next.
On that dark, confusing Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I’m sure grief was staring them in the face like a looming monster. They must have craved the familiar comfort of Jesus’ presence.
But I hope in that difficult time, they reflected on the words Jesus shared with them less than 24 hours earlier:
Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.
John 16:22 NLT
Grief is the required passageway through the hard middle. You must let go of what lies behind and hold onto hope that God will restore your joy.
Grief is the required passageway through the hard middle. You must let go of what lies behind and hold onto hope that God will restore your joy. #joy #grief #spiritualgrowth Click To Tweet
Faith in the Hard Middle
The journey through the hard middle also requires faith. Faith that the middle isn’t the end.
Previous generations passed their faith down to me. Now I carry the seeds of their faith in my heart, ready to share them with future generations. Faith is helping me move through this hard middle.
The sun was setting pink and purple as I walked off the property, hugging myself tight. Looking back on the fields, gratitude replaced my grief as I said one of many goodbyes in my heart.
That’s when God whispered to me:
You will not always have this place. But you will always have Me.
I looked over at the nearby cemetery, where the remains of my ancestors await Jesus’ return. Then, I thanked God for the foundation of faith they gave me. I praised Him for always being with me. Finally, I asked Jesus to give me new hope for what is to come.
No matter what happens in this hard middle, I know God is present with me. He is the constant source of comfort I’ve been seeking all along. I pray you will find comfort in God’s presence in your hard middle too.
God whispered to me: You will not always have this place. But you will always have Me. #comfort #healing #grief Click To Tweet
Prayer
Heavenly Father,
Thank you for the gift of your loving presence.
It’s a wonderful constant in a world full of change.
Today I come before you with my hard middle situation.
I confess to you that grief is trying to steal my joy.
Walk with me through the grief of letting go, Lord.
Comfort me with your abiding presence.
Help me trust that joy will follow this hard middle of grief.
Give me glimpses of the hope to come.
I thank you in advance for the faith you will build in me
as I walk hand-in-hand with you toward the horizon of hope.
In Jesus’ Name,
Amen.
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