If I had to define my state of mind as I write this, it would be melancholy. Melancholy means “a state of pensive sadness, often with no obvious cause.”
Melancholy sounds so much better than other terms that I might use, especially when tied with the term “pensive,” which means “engaged in, involving, or reflecting deep or serious thought.”
I do think I know the cause for this pensive melancholy. We just celebrated Thanksgiving a week ago. My California kids were here, including the grandson that is technically from Arizona where he attends college. We do not see them very often. They have a life in California and cannot always travel to us, and we have gradually become less able to travel to them.
When they do come, they have other family now in Idaho and so even their time with us is limited. When I anticipate that it may be May until we see them again (since Christmas travel over the mountains is always an iffy endeavor), I get melancholy.
I hate the separation, but I remind myself that at this time of year, many people are sad. Some separations are more than distance or time. Some of us have experienced losses through the death of a loved one and are having to endure the fact that they will not see them until they too reach the other side of this life.
As I think about my tears this morning, I remember what Paul wrote to his son in the faith Timothy when he was away from him. “I thank God, whom I serve with a clear conscience as my ancestors did, when I constantly remember you in my prayers night and day. Remembering your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy.” [1Timothy 1:3-4 HCSB]
I might see my California loved ones at Christmas, or I might not see them until May. I have other loved ones I will not see until I depart this life. So a few tears, a lot of prayers, and the hope of the joy of reunion might mark this upcoming season. Maybe a little pensive melancholy too. And it is okay.
