Finding the hope in Limbo
Musings on this current season of life, melancholy, and finding contentment
In Limbo
I find myself in a strange season of life—a limbo, perhaps? I feel suspended between times, seasons, realms, or, if we are supernatural, planes of life.
The late evening sunlight streams across my desk, highlighting the dust bunnies and illuminating the glass of water beside me. I love the dapple of sunbeams. They make me happy and hopeful. Sunbeams make me smile.
Sunbeams seem to signify a start and an end to the day. During this season, they seem to herald the beginning of a new season and the ending of the older one.
This feeling of being in limbo creates a strained sensation inside of me. There are moments when I feel suspended in time, searching for breath, a fluttering in my heart. I can’t breathe, almost as if I am drowning. But at the same time, I feel like I am sitting on the shore, allowing the waves of emotion to sweep over me.
I don’t understand what I am feeling—or perhaps I do. With my inner vision, I see an end coming close. There is a season that will soon come to an end. It’s been a good season, and while I am thankful for how the season has blossomed and thrived, I’m keenly aware that there will be grief when the season ends.
Anticipating the Next Chapter
I know what the next season is—or at least I know what it could be—and I am excited about it. I’ve taken a few peeks into the next season and am eager to savor the delights. But at the same time, there is a bittersweet element at the end of this season. The bittersweet is not just because my children have grown and are about to fly the nest. The days were long, but the years were short.
It’s also because I have felt like I have been standing on the edge of a precipice for the longest time in my life. I wonder if I should return safely to the comforts of the world I know. Or should I step off the edge and pray that I know how to fly?
About a decade ago, while we were members of a small ethnic church, the pastor asked me to teach at a weekend prayer meeting. Naively, I thought that could have been the start of a new season in life.
I had always wanted to try teaching. I was eager to learn, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. In the presence of familiar faces and forgiving hearts, I remember teaching from Isaiah 40:28-31 on waiting.
Even youth shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.
I remember going home overflowing with gratitude and thankfulness for that opportunity but also fearful that this was just a one-time thing. There was a deep desire and a longing in my heart for a place where I could belong, learn, and be surrounded by others who would teach and mentor me. Sadly, it would be many years till those longings would be fulfilled, and during those years in the wilderness, God did a good work in my restless heart.
The Liturgy of the Ordinary
I was grateful when another opportunity to teach came up a few months down the road. But the day after the session, I wrestled with uncertainty, unsure who I was. The only constant in my life seemed to be the liturgy of the ordinary: the laundry, the chores, the visits to the pharmacy, the pickups and drop-offs from school and activities. The liturgy of my life kept beating in a rhythm that sometimes felt tiresome but also helped me march forward. Not marching was not an option.
Vacillating mind and emotions
Over the last two decades, I have vacillated from seasons of deep contentment and satisfaction in my life to the other extreme of doubt, questioning, and longing. When would it be my turn? Was there more out there for me? Does God see me? Did He know the desires of my heart? Was there a purpose to my life, and could I ever make an impact? Was the Ordinary the only place I belonged?
But during this wilderness season, I found myself in many oases. My mind and soul were stretched, challenged, and refreshed. Perhaps the wilderness and limbo were not as bad as I imagined. Maybe there was learning to be had at the University of Life.
Facing Familiar Limbo in a new season
Anxiety, fear, and uncertainty all seem like good friends these days. When my breath catches in my throat, the limbo appears familiar. I’ve been there before.
I remind myself - that God was faithful then and is now.
Glimpses into the Future & Embracing it
I’m thankful for the glimpses into the next chapter of my life. There are many new things around the corner: new faces to love, new seasons to embrace, new challenges to grow from, and new lessons to learn. There will be moments of sadness, but there will also be moments of joy—bittersweet or melancholy.
Melancholy is a good thing, “a tendency to states of longing, poignancy, and sorrow; an acute awareness of passing time; and a curiously piercing joy at the beauty of the world. The bittersweet is also about the recognition that light and dark, birth and death—bitter and sweet—are forever paired.”1
So, while the sunlight beams onto the table, I immerse myself in it. The restlessness in my heart settles into the comfort of knowing that no matter what the next day holds, I have this moment. And it is enough. Sometimes, I find the Christian sayings pithy and trite, but for this season of life, I choose to rest in the One who holds my tomorrow.
A deep supernatural peace comes with hope and an acceptance of the bittersweet. What would life be like if we did not have those seasons of the in-between or times of limbo?
As an Arabic proverb says, “Days of honey, Days of onion.”
Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole, Susan Cain