Today I unpacked some pictures that have been on top of my dresser for 7 months. Not the sort of epic pronouncement that’s going to make this post go viral, but in a small way, epic for me.

It wasn’t because of watching Marie Kondo (although that is very soothing) or reading articles on ‘simplifying your life’ that this action came into being.

It’s because God helped me to realize and recognize an emotional process I thought long finished was, in fact, ongoing.

The pictures represented something. Something that has been echoed in my thought life, in my tiredness, in my at-times overwhelmedness. In the cry of my heart in times of fruitful busyness.

I am grieving.

Grief is something you think you’d recognize easily. That kick-you-in-the-stomach feeling of loss and what now?.

But this grief is different and harder to recognize.

Because it’s difficult to understand grief, sometimes, in the midst of joy, of fulfillment, of happiness, and new beginnings.

It’s difficult to understand that in the midst of so much good there can be sadness, not about where you are, but about the goodness of where you’ve been and what you’ve experienced.

And I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t recognize that in the midst of good and wonderful and exciting transitions, the grief is low-grade and sometimes unrecognizable.

We can grieve in the midst of joy. We can long for elements of the old as we excitedly enter into the new.

When you physically transition, for a time, sometimes a long time, you have your heart’s feet in both worlds. You miss the people who are not your day to day anymore. Yet, you love the new people that fill your days.

Going from good to good is often a confusing mixture of longing and joining all jumbled together.

And this surprised me, though it shouldn’t. We’ve moved enough times from wonderful place to wonderful place that I should have recognized within myself the need for stillness to sort out the jumble of emotions. That it’s not disloyal to your friends on either side of the move to feel this mix of feelings.

The heart hurts a bit when it stretches to include all of the new people to love.

It takes time and stillness with God to recognize that it’s ok to be both sad and excited and that your heart can bridge all of the places you’ve lived and served.

And that you will be able to experience grief and joy and recognize that both signify good work that the Lord has done in and through you.

But how do we make our way through this time, however long it may be?

Seek the silence. It was during a walk in silence when I laid out before God my cry of ‘why do I feel this way?’. Why are there undercurrents that I don’t understand in the midst of the joy of seeing you work and move in me and in others?

That’s when he both showed me and gave me permission to step into my grief. The layer of grief that is a slow undercurrent, popping up when least expected. He reminded me that grief is a journey, a valley of shadows, but a valley full of his presence. And it was ok for me to be in a place of grieving and processing. He is there with me, illuminating, steadying, and pointing me towards truth and rest.

Seek the community. Transitions are hard and exciting all at the same time. We need people around us to remind us not only of what was behind but what is present and ahead. You can cry and be excited at the same time. It’s ok. And with others we find that perspective.

We’ve all moved or had those we love move. We’ve all experienced new things and sought to see how prior things fit in with what is going on around us. It’s in the stories and comfort from others that we find our way through our own narrative and journey of the heart.

Spread your roots. There’s a tree beside the parking lot at our church whose roots are causing trouble. They spread around and under and through our parking lot. It’s a tree that seen many years and its reach is wide.

That’s a gift that God gives us, the ability to spread our roots wide. Our hearts expand to love more people. We can journey to new places and learn new things while letting the lessons learned from the past sink deep within us. We don’t lose who we are, rather, new rings of depth form within us and spread outward.

Be willing. The prophet Jeremiah spoke to the people of Israel about planting their roots in Exile.

Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters…Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper. Jeremiah 29:5-7

Being willing means not just being all there, where you are. It means coming to a place where you don’t need to compartmentalize your love for others. Loving more people, ingrossing yourself in your new community is not a negation of what has come before. It’s an expansion of who you are, your relationships, and where God has brought you.

It’s what we are called to. Plant roots, build houses, and throw wide the doors. Let people into your world, let them mingle together, introduce people to your past and to your present. Expand the kingdom, plant roots, share with others, grieve, laugh, and see God grow you. Unpack your pictures. It’s messy, but fruitful.