I am a survivor of 1980’s train-wreck trends. Some of those include but are not limited to: parachute pants {mine were gray}, a single white glove {thank you, Michael Jackson}, feathered hair, mullets, multiple ear piercings, large Esprit book bags, moon boots, and tight-rolled jeans. Pictures from this decade cause me to cringe and turn away. I’m serious.

I can’t say the 90’s were significantly better. I was a full participant sporting over-sized clothes that swallowed me whole, overalls, and Hypercolor t-shirts. At the time, the trends felt like an improvement over the previous decade.

If I’m honest, I’d rather not see picture of myself in either era. I used to be unbelievably embarrassed if people caught a glimpse of photos revealing my 80’s mullet or 90’s obsession with turtlenecks. My kids, however, enjoy seeing what I looked like as a younger person. It gives them a frame of reference beyond the controlling chore boss and fun sucker they see, which in turn gives them margin to see me outside the parameters of adulthood.

The 90’s trends paved the way for the much-anticipated Y2K. We were sure this would include the emergence of hovercrafts and life resembling everything we’d seen on the Jetson’s. Although each era birthed slight fashion improvements, they were interdependent. One could certainly not exist without the other.

The seasons of our lives are quite similar. The season of sorrow often invites a season of new life and joy. Depth of suffering often gives way to a renewed urgency for peace. The difficulty we walk through clarifies the ease of other chapters.

When I walked through a divorce, I thought I had already known great suffering. Though I had walked through significant personal tragedy before divorce papers were delivered to my door, it felt like nothing compared to that moment. With the breath knocked out of my lungs, I fell to an all-time low in my spirit. There were days I thought I was surely going to die, because the hurt was tangible.

After many years of intentional self-care, I was able to look back and see how that season of suffering taught me to live in the moment. My heart learned the dialect of thanksgiving and hope. I learned to recognize the value and great reward of small things.

Though the suffering was not my idea of a well-timed season, it did birth a new perspective in me. This time, unlike the tragedy of photos confirming my  poor fashion choices of the 80’s and 90’s , I don’t mind looking at photos from my season of suffering.

During my hardest season, I could not imagine any good emerging. EVER. Thankfully, I had truth-tellers {also, where were they when I was wearing parachute pants?} that opted to speak into my unknown. They held my hand, wiped my tears, prayed over me, and assured me of brighter days ahead. They gave me strength to believe I could survive one more day in the great sorrow. Truth [wrapped in hope and love] changed my life.

Be a truth-teller for someone. Be a voice others can trust in all seasons. Show up. Hold their hand. Be kind. You don’t have to push them through their grief, or reason them out of the sorrow. Be comfortable moving into the discomfort of others. Meet them in the middle of the mess.

We heal in community. Interdependency isn’t the same as codependency. Don’t let the pain of one season bully you into giving up. Invite others in. Accept the invitation into someone else’s story. Be kind to others AND yourself.

Love well, friends.

#MomentofTruthMonday

#SeasonsofSuffering

#TruthTellersAreGameChangers

#ChooseKind

#sowkind