A November Lament

Why I'm choosing to sit in November and not rush Christmas.

I grew up in the Thumb of Michigan. Our old farm house, wooden barn, and yard were surrounded by flat, farm fields as far as the eye could see. Fence rows of scrubby trees made lines of separation, and here and there a few acres of trees marked areas that were too wet to plant. We had one neighbor across the street, but the next house was at least a quarter of a mile away.

In summer, the tall green corn stalks surrounding my house whispered an invitation to explore—endless green tunnels that always left me slightly itchy. In early fall, the stalks rustled dryly in the wind, waiting for the combine tractors and the golden stream of kernels at harvest. But in November everything was brown and gray. Cold and windy. Baren.

Harvested corn fields

I never liked November. The fields and trees around my house looked dead and lifeless. The brown dirt was partially tilled over, lumpy and frozen. Gray sticks, all that was left of the trees, waved in an even grayer sky. It was cold, but not cold enough to snow. My mother’s gardens had been mulched and were quietly waiting for spring. The flowers around the house were dead and cut down. I feel like it used to rain a lot in November during my childhood—cold drizzles that made it miserable to play outside. This strange month that was not quite fall and not yet winter seemed to last forever with the only bright spot being Thanksgiving finally at the very end.

Although the past couple of years have had relatively decent Novembers that remind me more of October, Michigan Novembers in general are not our best month. It is often cold, damp, and rainy. Except for a few stubborn ones, the leaves have mostly blown off the trees. The sun begins to disappear for the winter and it is frequently overcast. I understand why people would want to skip this dreary month and jump right into Christmas celebration.

But I am intentionally choosing to live in November this year.

This essay is not a condemnation of anyone who is already listening to Christmas music and pulling out Christmas decorations. I’m simply sharing thoughts, pondering reasons, and exploring possibilities.

Jenn Schultz

is the one who got me thinking a couple of days ago when she said this on Threads:

We chatted a bit on the post and talked about intentionally choosing cozy during this potentially dreary time of the year. And I started to wonder.

How often do I avoid the uncomfortable things in my life by jumping to something else that makes me happy? (Again not a judgement on people celebrating Christmas.) How often do I choose to intentionally sit in a space that hurts, makes me feel sad, or seems awkward? What would it look like if I did? How can I bring lament into these seasons of my life? Can I learn to lament well? Can I learn to be uncomfortable without being miserable?

Muddy two track on a rainy day

According to Webster’s dictionary, lament is a verb that means to express grief or sorrow for something. In Christian tradition, a lament is often a prayer that expresses sorrow, pain, or confusion. Learning to lament—to bring Jesus all of my pain, hurt, and frustration—has been a hugely healing thing for me.

For whatever reason, some church people seem to think that only comfortable emotions are godly while the uncomfortable ones are sin. I’ve written about this before.

Our Weird Evangelical Obsession with Emotions

But God created us as emotional beings. Our emotions are simply responses to what we experience in our bodies. They are neutral—not good or bad. Sometimes we go through November seasons of life. Everything feels gray and baren. Cold and windy. Drizzly and damp.

And that’s okay. We don’t need to rush to get away from those feelings or out of that situation. We definitely don’t need to feel guilt and shame because we aren’t happy.

The false notion that obeying God guarantees a life of wealth, health, and happiness needs to be rejected. We can’t follow formulas to force God’s hand. He isn’t a vending machine. This world is broken. Bad things are going to happen. But that’s okay.

I wrote a chapter on spiritual formulas in my book, Religious Rebels. This is part of my conclusion.

“The real God will not always make sense. So we’ve got to throw away the understandable, controllable god that we have created in our own image. We must allow the real God to be bigger, greater, and more than we can comprehend. Does the Bible say that God is good? Yes. All-powerful? Absolutely. Does He still choose to let bad things happen and take good things away? Yeah, actually the Bible says that too. And with that, we are back to tension theology—the opportunity to believe in two seemingly opposing things. In one hand I will believe in God’s goodness and love, and in the other hand I will believe in His sovereignty even in a broken world.

Life is going to hurt, but we will never be alone. And a God who is more, better, and bigger than we can ever imagine is in complete control even when it doesn’t look like it. He wants to walk with us through life, to help and comfort us, because He loves us.”

~ Christy Lynne Wood

This year I am intentionally living in my November. I will build resiliency, choose coziness, and lean into lament. I’m going to take walks in the brisk wind and then come inside to sit by my fireplace with a cup of tea and a fuzzy blanket. I plan on reading books, watching movies, and making soup. I want to notice the somber beauty of gray branches against an even grayer sky. I’m probably going to feel sad because I miss the sun and warmth of summer. I’ll look forward to winter and the upcoming holidays. And I will remember that this is a season that will pass, just like the painful, uncomfortable seasons of my life.

In the Christian calendar the season of Advent is a focused time of preparation and anticipation of Jesus’ coming at Christmas and also his second coming. Before Advent is the season of Ordinary Time. November is my ordinary time and, whether I like it or not, this year I am choosing to live it purposefully. Then I will begin the anticipatory celebration of Jesus and all that Christmas brings. Because much of life is hard and I want to live it well.

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