This week, I have mourned and I have danced. I have laughed and I have cried. I have grieved and I have celebrated. I am human after all.

We tend to stay away from mourning and dancing. Too afraid to cry, too shy to dance…we become narrow-minded complainers, avoiding pain and also true human joy…While we live in a world subject to the evil one, we belong to God. Let us mourn, and let us dance. – Henri Nouwen

God created the depths of man to be a place for Love. He built and designed us with the capacity for perfect loving connection – for communion. After the fall, we lost our ability to do so boldly. The presence of the enemy brought fear into places it never belonged. The most heartfelt purpose of humanity – relationship – became a battleground. Identity and inherent value were questioned, worthiness was put on trial. Our deepest vulnerabilities became exposed, and not kept safe.

Just like Adam and Eve, we’ve tried to hide ourselves away. If I don’t let on how much I like them, then it’ll hurt less when it ends. If I never fully give myself away to another, then I’ll be immune to the depths of sorrow. If I don’t experience fullness of joy, then it also won’t be so disappointing when I lose it. If I don’t let myself embrace the highs, then the lows won’t feel so bad.

So often we think this way. How our inclination toward numbness grieves the Father’s heart when Jesus came to make a way for life abundant, not just for getting by. We think tampering down our joy saves us from disappointment and sorrow. It doesn’t save us at all. It steals. And who besides the enemy himself could be behind a theft like that?

We keep the true desires of our heart to ourselves, thinking entrusting them to the Lord leaves us vulnerable to our deepest fear coming true: we are not worthy of love. We are not good enough for it. We haven’t yet earned it.

Beloved, if only you knew how God sees you. If we can’t be honest with God, how could we be honest about what’s in our heart of hearts with others? The Lord is trustworthy, and He cares about the depths of your heart. He wants to reveal His glory and kindness through them.

Instead of inviting the fullness of God to dwell in our hearts, we exist halfheartedly in the middle. We try to protect ourselves from hurt when God instead built us for wholehearted life, to the full. Our sorrows are not problems to be dealt with, but rather an invitation. We avoid pain when we stray away from the edges, but we also forfeit the fullness of joy David writes about in the sixteenth psalm. The invitation is to encounter God through it all. To allow Him to be God With Us in life and joy, pain, sorrow, and disappointment.

When my heart is deeply grieved, often all I can think about is being anywhere else. Escape, the heart says. But in the Lord’s kindness, those are the moments he makes his gentle presence everclear. Those are the moments when I remember how much I need him. Those are the circumstances that make me grip so tightly to the cloak of Jesus – clinging to His hope, His provision, His peace, His presence – knowing that nothing else can satisfy the deepest longings of my heart. This is a desperation of faith seasons of blessing can forget. Life abundant is the fruit of a beautiful life built by mourning and dancing. What one season can forget, another season can remind and restore.

In all things, we can see the goodness of the Lord if we have the courage to open our eyes. To feel what we need to feel. To confront the truths that are hard to admit. To accept the outcomes we didn’t hope for. To be grateful when we’re living in answered prayers. To weep tears of joy as we realize each morning God has blessed us with new mercies.

Even though I don’t envy mourning while I’m dancing, I am grateful for it and the depth it brings me to with Jesus. Gratitude begets gratitude, and once we’re able to embrace that reality even in our deepest griefs and sorrows, we are able to give ourselves fully to the human experience – from mourning all the way to dancing.

I don’t want to life half-alive. If I reached the end of this life and said, I made it. I survived. I came out the other side without experiencing the fullness of grief or of joy, I would be living with the sole purpose of not getting hurt. That doesn’t sound like winning to me. That sounds halfhearted. Fearful. Numb.

I want to love recklessly, and allow the pain of loving people deeply to mark the heart of a life well-lived. I want to mourn and I want to dance. I want to practice gratitude in every season, knowing it opens our eyes to see the beauty and blessing of the simplicity and mundane things in life. 

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I had to grieve a person this week. I had to grieve the loss of the living. A person who swiftly entered my life, caused a beautiful raucous in my heart, and then left almost as quickly as they came. It was unexpected.

From this, I learned I held back from fully dancing, afraid of getting hurt. I thought if I didn’t care too much, it wouldn’t hurt so bad if it ended. But on the other side, my mourning is even greater because I was left with regret.

And yet, the goodness of the Lord is all around me. His grace, mercy, kindness and love.

Maybe you’ve done something similar. You’ve hidden yourself away, withheld gratitude for a person because you were afraid they would leave your life with a part of you.

I don’t want that for any of us. I don’t want us to exist numbly in the middle. I want us to walk forth boldly, unafraid of sharing the love God has first given us. Love is too good to withhold from one another. Just as gratitude begets gratitude, so love begets love. Let’s love a little harder. It’s what Jesus did for us on the cross. It’s what we’re called to do for each other.

And when we need to find rest, healing, and comfort, we can fall into the arms of Jesus – the one who is always ready to pick us up when we fall. The one who always knows exactly what we need before we do. As believers, we get to pull from a well that never runs dry. Our love is first, His.

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Let us mourn, and let us dance. Let us find purpose in our pain – gratitude for the many sorrows of this life.

One day, we will dance on streets of gold and every tear we cry will be wiped away. But for now, let us experience the fullness of this life, and the beauty of a God who entered into this suffering to bring us a living hope. Let us love without fear, without regret.

May you live fully awake. 

May you love fearlessly. 

May you always tell people what they mean to you. 

May you live numb to nothing, embracing everything.

God’s way is the way of Love. May you accept the invitation that draws you to it.

May we fear not the path set before us – allowing room for grief, joy, and everything in between. 

May we cry real tears and grieve what must be grieved, so that we can be grateful each new day we receive. 

May we love deeply and fully, knowing love begets love. 

May we mourn. May we dance.

May we remember hope is a person.