The Fog of Sadness

When I first began my writing journey–though I didn’t even realize that’s what it was at the time–I was drawn to writing for those who struggled with anxiety. Regardless of age or gender, God’s people were anxious and hurting, and I wanted to help. 

Lately, however, I’ve sensed a shift. I don’t think it’s only within myself, but rather a shift that is being felt by many. It seems that sadness has begun to overshadow anxiety. For myself, it has felt like a big, billowing blanket of sorrow has settled over me. It has not been suffocating, but it has certainly changed the landscape of my life. It’s like when fog rolls in and quietly cloaks everything that was familiar, leaving it looking so very different. The landscape is softened. It turns into something quieter, more contemplative. Fog slows us down. It requires us to move about cautiously. It reduces our visibility, requiring us to only focus on what is in front of us. 

We can no longer see the distant horizon. 

When I compare the two emotions, the differences are clear. Anxiety is future-focused. It is worry. It is fear that whispers, or sometimes shouts,  “What if?” So we become hypervigilant, scrambling to arrange our lives to make sure things turn out the way we want them to. 

Eventually, though, we must face the truth that so much is beyond our control. At the end of the day, we are faced with experiences we would never choose, and we endure situations that leave us aching. So, what do we do with that? 

The answer, though not one we want to hear, is that we must grieve. We must simply be sad for a while. Unlike anxiety, sadness does not demand action-oriented steps. It doesn’t come with a checklist. There is no problem-solving to sleuth our way through. Sadness is still. It is quiet. Like the fog, it changes the landscape of our lives. It asks us to slow down, to name our hurts and our disappointments. It invites us to sit and feel the weight of pain that we would much rather avoid—pain we never wanted. It is not something that comes easily or naturally, this sitting in sadness. 

Unlike anxiety, sadness doesn’t ask us to manage, or solve, or fix. It asks us to surrender—to sit quietly in the ache and to name the hurts we would rather bury. 

When we release control and allow ourselves to simply sit and be still in our sorrow, we invite the opportunity for something holy to happen. We create space to come into God’s presence. How can we experience God as our Comforter if we don’t recognize our need to be comforted? Sadness does that for us. 

Maybe sadness isn’t just an invitation to sit and weep—although there is a time for that—but it can also be a time to wait. Wait and trust in the one who promises to wipe away every tear, and to give Him your hand to lead you through the fog. Fog doesn't remain. It eventually lifts, but in its own time.

Revelation 21:4:

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”