Sorrow: An Acknowledgment

When the clouds move in and cover Lake Michigan about this time mid-November, something strange happens to me as well. My internal radar seems to have its own set of clouds. The light inside this vessel goes dimmer, hiding the normal joy and ease that comes with being a strong 7wing8 personality on the Enneagram. In this cloud cover it is hard to find the realistic, yet unsinkable optimist inside of me. She disappears into the snow-coated mist of our long northern winters.

This is a new phenomenon for me and I am getting to know this version of myself. I’m learning to appreciate her, too, which is the more challenging task. What does she bring to me? What does she have to share? While I’d like to introduce seasonal affective Heidi to only the sun of Phoenix and the new recipes I have planned to help her navigate the winter dim, I also know I need to make room for her as she is, without trying to fix her or suffocate her with crafts and activities.

Sad Heidi, this seasonally quieter version of me, less likely to rah-rah and more likely to leak from my eyelids, especially teaches me the value and richness found in the emotion of sorrow. You may not have cloud cover or a waxing and waning seasonal sorrow, but we each have our own in time.  

Sorrow is related to loss, to regret, to disappointment and distress. Sorrow is sadness that endures for a season, longer than we expect or desire. It is sadness we can’t easily tuck away. It persists and demands to be heard and seen, like a petulant toddler, sometimes kicking and screaming for our attention, other times, nestled in the corner of our heart, scared, afraid to be seen, hurting. Sorrow is also connected to love. Sorrow exists because of fullness, a full life. We are aware of sorrow because we are aware of knowing love and longing, a world not quite right, that often breaks our hearts as often or more often than it fills or mends them.

November’s clouds remind me that all is not sunshine and joy, that I miss my grandfather and my Aunt Shelia, that there are barren seasons, just as there are buds and blossoms.

Psalm 88 is beautiful place to turn to get to know the emotion of sorrow. The Bible, Hebrew poetry in particular, is incredibly descriptive of the human experience. The Psalmist in Psalm 88 gives us a window to the impact of sorrow on a human soul, as well as a response that honors the sadness and difficulties alongside the sunny joy.

First, look for the presence of these very human responses to sorrow in Psalm 88:

A soul full of trouble –

This is the distress of sorrow. Sometimes our souls are disturbed, as they should be at injustice and the death of dreams or ones we love; it is not always well with our soul, even when our soul is saved by grace alone. This is humanity, lived fully. The world is broken and we will struggle with our broken bits and pieces. We are a little more aware of death and mortality in sorrow than others around us. When we love, that brokenness will press in and hurt. Our soul with speak and yearn. This is a good work, a kindness to ourselves to listen and let our souls be real and honest and find the encouragement they need without dismissing our experience of trouble.

The experience of the pit –

I hate the pit. It feels yucky and damp and reeks of that sense of helplessness the Psalmist talks about in verse 15. It is scary. When we experience the pit, we need others to show up for us. We need our support system. We need encouragement in the form of presence –  words and thoughtfulness yes, but mostly presence. The Psalmist mentions deep loneliness too, a sense of friendlessness that comes with sorrow. We need to know we are not alone. It is hard to see a way out and we need others to reach in.

Feeling forgotten and a God who is heavy handed –

Sorrow can feel solitary especially as it drags on. It is often experienced not as an emotion of the moment, but an invisible companion for a time. With the persistence of the emotion of sorrow can come the thoughts or feelings that we have been forgotten – by those who love us, by the world, and also by God. The Psalmist highlights other ways our cognitions can get shifted with the cloud cover of sorrow – God is hard to see, God is hidden. God seems angry at us, God’s wrath is heavy and makes it feel like God is not only not for us, but that God is against us.

Negative perception assumption –

In sorrow, we get tired. Our strength wanes like the psalmist’s. When our brains get tired the default to assumptions built on our most negative experiences and perceptions of ourselves and others. In sorrow, then, it’s easy to think everyone is looking at us with disgust or at least disinterest. We see ourselves and those around us as needy, unworthy, or especially challenging. We can know these things are not true in our heads, but they tend to vie for attention from somewhere deep within us.

Overwhelm and flooding –

The distress of sorrow can look large and fitful. When we have lost someone or something tangible, we might cry messy tears, lament vocally or mentally, or pour out our hearts to those close to us. When we have lost something less tangible, or when the sorrow seeps in without a reason, or with that November cloud cover, where do we go with it? As humans, we tend to hold it inside until it overwhelms us. When we have no words or understanding for our experience, we go about our business and it bites us from behind – we lash out at those we love, we berate ourselves for any and all issues we can find, we are flooded with emotion in a moment, here and gone. While the Psalmist might be speaking metaphorically about flooding in verse 17, flooding is a modern term in psychology and related fields describing the human experience of psychological overwhelm, when our heart rates rise, our blood pressure increases, our body temperature may change, and we ready ourselves for defense. Being aware of what makes us flooded is really helpful for relationships and our own mental and physical wellbeing. Sorrow can bring us important information about ourselves, noting times and triggers that bring flooding, then giving ourselves space to simply experience what is coming to the surface is a kindness to ourselves. Taking another moment to speak grace to ourselves calms the systems of our bodies further.

And what of response? Next, notice where the Psalmist brings in that space for themselves and their emotions before God, reminders and promises of things that may feel far away. Look for these words and phrases, spiritual gifts that offer the attentiveness we need and maybe also some calm in the midst of sorrow:

Cry out

Pray

Call upon you

Spread out my hands before you

Rise up

God does incline His ear to us. Jesus is ever present. We will need people to bring these too us at times. Some days, simply rising to stand and take one step in front of the other is a good thing of God. Other times we can discover in our sorrow a little more of ourselves and a little more of a God, a Savior, who values this emotion too.

 Resources:

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