"Even there"

"I can never escape from your Spirit!

I can never get away from your presence!

If I go up to heaven, you are there;

if I go down to the grave, you are there.

If I ride the wings of the morning,

if I dwell by the farthest oceans, 

even there your hand will guide me,

and your strength will support me. 

I could ask the darkness to hide me

and the light around me to become night - 

but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.

To you the night shines as bright as day.

Darkness and light are the same to you.

Psalm 139:7-12

"Even when I walk through the dark valley of death,

I will not be afraid,

for you are close beside me.

You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.

You honor me by anointing my head with oil.

My cup overflows with blessings. 

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me

all the days of my life,

and I will live in the house of the LORD forever."

Psalm 23:4-6

"He was despised and rejected --

a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.

We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.

He was despised, and we did not care.

Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;

it was our sorrows that weighed him down."

Isaiah 53:3-4

     7 weeks ago today, the Lord saw fit that I should deliver my dead son. I had been carrying him approximately 5 weeks when it was confirmed that he had not made it. I barely knew I was pregnant before I lost him. His name is Daniel and his life and loss have irrevocably changed mine. 

     There is something so personal about grief when your body, that was supposed to be the safest place for life to grow, becomes a tomb. Rather than giving birth to life, I gave birth to death. This little being, "intricately woven" by God has experienced its last heartbeat, if it even had a chance to beat at all. This little one, whose days were numbered before he was conceived, never knew life outside the womb. (Job would have counted that as a blessing.) I never got to see his face or know his hair color. He didn't yet have fingers or toes for me to count or a nose for me to kiss. I'll never hear his laugh or see his goofy grin, not on this side of eternity anyway. My arms are empty of the one I want so desperately to hold. 

     Grief is ugly, raw, and untamed and it does not have an expiration date. There are so many uncomfortable emotions that accompany it. The force of them feels like a tsunami that threatens to overwhelm and incapacitate. I'm told that the force with which you grieve and feel the pain dims with time, but you cannot go back to the way things were nor do you forget. "The dark valley of death" is soo long and there is not a light visible at the end of the tunnel. I'm told that will come but am not promised when. This loss is something I will live with for the rest of my life. As one grieving, I ask that you don't shy away from this around me or others. Don't dismiss the value and preciousness of the life lost. Don't pretend a human being did not die. Please be patient with me and others who are hurting. Don't try to rush us through this valley (we want to run as fast as we can through it anyway). Don't try to "fix it," or minimize what we're going through. It's unhelpful and can mark you as one not to be trusted with tender things. I'm told being willing to sit in the pain and let it wash over you is part of the healing process. It's not something you want to short circuit and it's not a time to miss the presence of God. It might make you uncomfortable to sit with me. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable, but don't leave me alone because you don't know what to do or say. Grief is isolating enough without the one hurting being isolated from those who aren't. Community is vital in times like this. 

     As I seek to walk through this valley, I realize that I'm in good company. I have a Savior who was, "acquainted with deepest grief." He was greatly incensed at the tomb of Lazarus at the reality of death. I am surrounded by Psalmists who did not shy away from the reality of living in a very broken world. Loss, grief, anxiety, fear, depression, injustice, pain, sorrow, anger and other powerful, normal, human emotions and experiences flood the book of Psalms. The authors of the psalms did not shy away from the uncomfortable. They barged into the throne room of heaven and demanded answers of the only One who could give them. Did you know that the largest category of Psalms is that of lament/grieving? 1/3 of our songs to be sung are songs of grieving. Let that hit you. There is also an entire book in our Bible devoted to lament. These words become a language with which the I can bring my pain to God. Their words have become my own, their experiences mine. This Jesus who is afflicted with the affliction of his people (Isaiah 63) is becoming more of a person to me than He has ever been. When I'm at a loss for words, I have a wealth of words with which to speak to God. Even here, I can have hope.