Where Joy and Sorrow Kiss
As I sat in the hospital room, I felt an overwhelming chill, causing me to question whether it is the result of an overworking cooling system or the sense of fear and sadness of not being able to change what is before me. The smell of disinfectant, accompanied by pain in my heart and sadness in my soul, make me overwhelmingly sorrowful. Who was this in the hospital bed? This man – frightened, anxious, uncomfortable, angry, and confused? This man who is at the mercy of others, no longer in control of his own life, unable to contribute his wisdom, or provide me with fresh and wise perspective? The man who ended up here following a fall and head injury? Certainly this wasn’t my big brother.
My brother, Coy Bascom Newton, III, was the one who would allow my younger footie-pajamaed self to invade his space and snuggle with him on the couch, watching cartoons, while laughing at both me and the TV. He was the strong one who carried 3-year-old me into the emergency room following a fall (resulting in a busted chin stitches) off the bleachers during his high school wrestling match – I still sense his intense concern; holding me in his arms; the nurse asking if he was my father; and my heart swelling with pride in response to the question.
This man lying in this hospital bed, only able to periodically form understandable words, trying to communicate his frustration…he couldn’t be the big uniformed brother who showed up during my school lunch in first grade - my confidence exploding as he sat with me and my friends, eating a disgusting 1970s elementary school lunch, talking with us, laughing with us – resulting in my elevation to Queen of the First Grade for that one day, his “cool factor” changing everything for me!
That’s the brother I remember. The brother I admired. The one who would ask me what I was reading; who loved to share British Crime Drama recommendations; the one who would talk me off a cliff ; take me on hikes with he and his wife; who was fully present when we talked, who suggested I stay at his house when I was a teenager frustrated with her parents. Where has he gone?
Today I sit with a man who is unsure of his world, crying out for his wife, Babs, who has loved him with a love that is faithful, true, unselfish, and dedicated, her strength and commitment astounding everyone. I fully expect to see a statue raised in her honor when I enter eternity.
He is angry one moment, confused the next, and making me laugh with a choice swear word here and there. Desperately wanting to connect, I lean over and say, “You look like Pa-Paw Little.” His eyes crinkle and he gives a little familiar snicker. There he is! The brother who teased me relentlessly, chasing me around the house in an attempt to give me a “wet willy.” “I love you, Sweetie,” I say as I stroke his shoulder. “Sweetie?!” he laughs. “Sweetie?! Sweetie?! Sweetie?!” I experience momentary victory, as he feels this lightness of heart, as we both know his response humorously puts me in my proper place - “Who do you think you are, calling me Sweetie? I’m the big brother here!” I can imagine him saying. But no sooner had we experienced this momentary taste of joy and lightness, that sorrow and sadness threaten to engulf us both.
I HATE ALZHEIMERS WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING. IT TRULY SUCKS. BIG TIME.
How did we get here when literally just yesterday, I experienced pure and utter joy with the sacred and precious arrival my first granddaughter - little Magnolia Claire Wilson – 6.7 pounds of pure perfection. Not able to take my eyes off of her – so grateful for this beautiful little one. In awe of the affect she has on everyone around her. Such an answer to prayer. She squirms…sighs…settles into the crook of my arm. I could sit and experience her for hours.
But sitting in this hospital room? Nothing could be more opposite.
When in my 30s, an older, wiser friend once told me, “You love your kids, but you FALL IN LOVE with your grandkids.” Little did I know how this truth would transform my world and enable me to experience God in a way that I didn’t know was possible, as it is when I am with my g-babies that I experience my truest and most free self. It is in this space that God’s presence is most palpable. Whether we are playing, reading, baking cookies, or walking outside, it is in these experiences that my heart floats. It is here that I genuinely experience God’s pleasure, as He observes me experiencing His presence and love for me in the presence of these little ones.
Ecclesiastes Chapter 3 tells us there is “a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” The birth of Magnolia was sacred space, as is bearing witness to the illness that has been robbing my brother of life since he was only 57 years old. It is where joy and sorrow kiss. This is the space where, as author Henri Noun states “the cup of sorrows and the cup of joys, cannot be separated.”
In his book, Can You Drink the Cup, Nouwen tells the story of Gordie Henry, a young man with Down Syndrome, who once told him, “What is good about our life is that you make so many friends. What is hard about our life is that so many friends leave.”
Am I willing to be open to the beauty and sacredness of both joy and sorrow like this wise young man? Whether it be family, friendships, collogues, or those we know only momentarily? Can I risk being hurt, as I know the beauty within that connection makes it all worthwhile? Can I sit in the space where joy and sorrow kiss, without having to fix it?
Am I capable of loving others, allowing myself to form attachments and bonds, while knowing that pain may result down the road, as sometimes someone you love, who loves you, leaves your life, sometimes for good?
Both joy and pain are parts of our mission – to love and be loved. It’s hard. It’s painful. But the joy and love make the pain worthwhile…sacred. Being able to hold both joy and sorrow together…is truly precious, beautiful, and in the end, life-giving.
Psalm 116 tells us
The Lord is merciful and upright, our God is tenderness…
My trust does not fail even when I say, “I am completely wretched.”
In my terror I said, “No human being can be relied on.”
What return can I make to the Lord for His generosity to me?
I shall take up the cup of salvation.
And call on the Name of the Lord.
The coming and leaving of those we love, the experiences of love and betrayal, the witnessing of birth and death, care and indifference, generosity and stinginess can actually be our pathway to true freedom. All of these tensions can result in a deep, deep yearning for full freedom that is beyond the structures of our world.
Drinking the cup of Salvation involves emptying the cup of sorrow and the cup of joy, so that God can fill it with pure life. This truth enables me to be so very thankful for the life Coy has lived; the legacy he has given us, the difference he made in my life, his family’s life, and the lives of everyone who knew him. I will grieve his life being robbed by Alzheimer’s.
At the same time, I bask in the beauty of little Magnolia Claire’s birth.
I will not run from the sadness of my big, strong, intelligent, and funny brother slowly slipping away. I will ask God to enable me to be courageous as I explore what this pain has to teach me. I also chose to fully immerse myself in the beautiful gift of life in the arrival of little Magnolia Claire. This precious little one. This baby girl who already brings joy to everyone around her.. Oh, Lord, how blessed am I – to be witness to these two extremes?
So I chose to not only witness, but embrace the place where joy and sorrow kiss…as I offer this sacred space to Him who invites me into freedom. The invitation to do so is one of great worth, of which I will be eternally grateful.
Much love - Cammie
