By Eva Martínez Vela
Para leer la versión en español haga clic aquí
For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven… a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.
(Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 NRSVUE)
I was born in Monterrey and have lived there for most of my life. This city is located in a transitional geographic zone between Mesoamerica and Aridoamerica, which makes its climate quite changeable. In a single day, we can experience cold, heat, wind, and even rain. That is why there is a popular saying: “Welcome to Monterrey; if you don’t like the weather, come back in five minutes.”
For a long time, this saying struck me as amusing and trivial. However, in recent months I have discovered that it can also describe what happens in our lives.
It is common to associate our state of mind with the weather. When everything is going well, we say we are having a sunny day, with a clear, blue sky. Conversely, when we go through difficulties, we speak of storms, gray days, or cloudy skies. We would like our emotional life to be as predictable as we might wish: to enjoy the sunny days and have time to recover when the storms arrive.
But what happens when joy and pain arrive at the same time?
Fifteen days before my daughter’s wedding, my mother, who was over ninety years old, fell ill. Within a few days, her condition became serious. As our family busied itself with the final preparations to celebrate the beginning of a new household, we also began to face the possibility of having to say goodbye to one of the most important people in our lives.
On one hand, there was the excitement, the plans, and the joy of seeing my daughter begin a new chapter. On the other, the pain and uncertainty surrounding my mother’s imminent departure. Two of the greatest loves of my life were stirring within me emotions that were profoundly different, almost opposite.
Due to logistical reasons, I was going to travel to the outskirts of the city to spend the night before the wedding near the venue, so I said goodbye to my mom. I leaned toward her bedside and whispered the words of Psalm 4:8 into her ear: “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” It was a psalm I had learned from her, one that she, in turn, had learned from her own mother. How beautiful it is to discover that certain words of faith travel from generation to generation, becoming a refuge when we need them most!
Two hours later, I received a phone call. My siblings told me that our mother had departed to be in the presence of the Lord. That night, I shared some very meaningful and profound moments with my daughter, moments that will stay with us forever.
The following day, we held the wedding. How does one experience a celebration when one’s heart is in mourning? How does one embrace such great joy while enduring such a painful loss?
I believe I was able to get through that day thanks to the example my mother left us: to focus on love, even in the most difficult circumstances. That is what she taught us, not just through her words, but through the way she lived her life. And so, in the midst of our sadness, we were able to celebrate. Even though the loss of my mother weighed heavily on my heart, we experienced a wedding filled with joy.
The book of Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a time for everything: a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. We might imagine that these times follow one another in an orderly fashion, much like the seasons of the year, one season giving way to the next. Yet, at times, life does not afford us the opportunity to bring one chapter to a close before the next one begins.
In my case, the saying from Monterrey proved true. If you have asked me how I am doing over these past few months, you have likely discovered that I swing between grief and joy, and from joy to nostalgia. I recall beautiful moments from my daughter’s wedding and I smile; then I think of my mother and miss her deeply. One emotion does not cancel out the other. I can be grateful for what I have experienced while, at the same time, mourning the loss.
As a general rule, a city does not change its location on the map. It has no way to escape the climate it happens to be in. In the case of my city, its geographical transition zone dictates that this state of flux is permanent. This leads me to reflect on how we live as women: always in process, always in transition, always on a journey, learning with every step. This is not a sign of a fickle temperament, but rather of adaptability in the face of what life presents to us.
I have learned that the wisdom of Ecclesiastes does not lie in demanding that we feel only one emotion at a time, but rather in recognizing that life holds a variety of emotions, and that God is present in all of them. Faith does not ask us to pretend that we are not in pain, nor does it compel us to hide our joy when we are experiencing a loss. We can weep before God, and we can also laugh; we can lament, and yet continue to be grateful.
As women of faith, we need to learn to experience our emotions in a healthy and sincere way before God. We may not always be able to choose the circumstances we have to face, but we can trust that we do not have to go through them alone.
In one of his compositions, my husband expresses an idea that has stayed with me:
“Praise without lament
is a fabrication, a pretense;
and lament without praise
is nothing more than despair…
With patience and with gratitude,
we embrace the moment of living.”
Perhaps today you are enjoying a bright season. Or perhaps you are going through a storm that seems as though it will never end. It may even be that, as was the case for me, you are experiencing both at the same time. You do not need to compare your journey with that of other women, nor do you need to rush to feel a certain way. Give yourself permission to live this moment with honesty, patience, and hope.
Neither you nor I walk alone. In every season of life, in every unexpected shift in the climate of our hearts, God remains by our side.
And if someone asks you today how you are, remember that you can answer honestly: “I am learning to live through this time, with everything it brings along.”
Because, even if the climate of our heart changes in five minutes, God’s love and presence remain.

Eva Martínez has a bachelor’s degree in psychology with a master’s degree in mental health and intellectual disabilities. She is the coordinator of Strengthened and Inclusive Families, Effeta ABP, an institution that seeks to promote the inclusion and rights of people with intellectual disabilities and their families. She is a CLLI Monterrey graduate (2018), and serves as a CLLI board member. In addition, she serves with her husband, Joel Sierra, in the pastorate of Jiréh Baptist Community, Monterrey, Mexico. She is the mother of 4 adult children, Andrés, Luz Daniela, Samuel, and Miguel.











































































































