To the empty corner chair in the spare bedroom,

When I first began sitting in you for long periods of time, it was as if I was exiled to your corner. It was in 2022, right after my dad passed. My work schedule was due to change with the New Year when I’d be working from home more, and I needed it to desperately.

He passed away on November 18, 2022. It was in the early evening, as the sun was just beginning to go down in the sky, and it was that unusual time of day between afternoon and sunset I usually love. Then it happened, I panicked inside, and my heart sank underneath a weight of grief for how long I didn’t know.

Then there was you. My family and I had just fought a long battle. We were war-torn, bruised, wounded, inflicted with the deepest of scars, fresh off the field having undergone a huge loss, with not all of us making it. And there I was, with my laptop and work things bundled in my arms, silently accepting exile in your quiet corner.

I sat with you ever day as I worked. On all of the ones I remember, it was beautiful outside. The sun brightened like it was smiling at me from the other side of the window, and I could make out the shapes of trees and palm fronds and leaves at a close distance as I looked outwards. I could see the way the breeze caressed everything around it, how nature moved, how the still breath of the wind made it come to life, brightening the inside of the room, ushering in light, making the walls jump with color and their greyness fade to brightness.

Everyday I’d sit–war-torn, wounded, bleeding, and everyday I wept. For the longest, I never really felt much better, until one day I did. Until one day, I could appreciate the brightness outside my window and smile in return.

Then as things were beginning to resemble something like normal, I tore my Achilles. I did it one Saturday jumping and celebrating around the house while watching an Olympic basketball game on TV (it’s alright, you can laugh lol). And I found myself in that same place again, exiled to your corner, sentenced to work virtually in solitude, this time tasked with physically healing.

But pretty soon I could walk normally again, and eventually I could drive long distances which meant I could return to work. Though not long after I resumed going to the office, I was laid off from my job of almost eight years. And I found myself returning to your corner once more, this time realizing there was an even further emotional depth I would journey to of healing, humility, hope, faith, and surrender.

It’s been over two years since my dad passed and I initially found myself sitting with you. Truth is I’m still healing, from everything. I’m still learning. And I still cry for my dad sometimes because I know I’ll never see him again in this life, and I wish more than anything I could talk to him. Truth is, it still hurts in places I can’t deny, and I still bleed on the page.

Truth is, I’m still in exile, sitting in your corner among rubble and waiting for it to spring to life, for flesh to appear on dry bones and light to appear out of darkness as God’s Word says (Ezekiel 37:4-6; John 1:1-5).

But truth is, deep down–in this familiar place I’ve been to before, the place beyond the wind and waves, beneath all my emotions; the resounding truth that reverberates throughout the most tempestuous sea, the one troubles and thunder can never fully drown, that draws its breath from the Giver of Life Himself; deep down, in that place where the more you try to bury it, the deeper the truth takes root, the place even the most deeply reverberating frequency of pain can never shake, in that deepest part of myself–I still know.

Deep down, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23).

Deeper still, “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).