I always looked forward to taking family pictures. I loved
seeing the smiling faces and how our number seemed to exponentially increase
each year – that’s what happens when you are one of five siblings. Each year,
new babies or new bellies getting ready for the forthcoming child. The
excitement of a new family photo was only diminished by trying to fit everyone
in and keeping the littles smiling and looking at the camera. No bunny ears,
please! Pictures, always joy – that is until this year. When our number, rather
than increase, has decreased by one number. Our faithful matriarch met her
Savior on Thanksgiving day. My grandmother, with Jesus rather than with us. It
seemed so unfair! And just like that death has hit our family!
It seems surreal and removed when it happens to someone
else. I try to sympathize, be present or involved. But it’s hard, and maybe you’re
like me and would rather distance yourself because you don’t understand death:
it’s unnatural. We as humans do everything we can to stay alive – and then
something like this happens, something I cannot control, something that is as certain
as tomorrow, but is ambiguous and overwhelming at best.
I try to run, but you can’t. Try to hide, but the thickest
covers only suffocate the soul. Gasping for fresh air, maybe try to be strong.
Some in the church would say that is the appropriate response to grief. Go numb
for a while, look for distractions – those are easy to come by these days…facebook,
anyone? Being distracted is easier than trying to figure out what my heart is
really dealing with, anyhow. But the dyke of distraction can only hold back the
flood of emotion so long. Something sparks a memory, and the tears break
through. Emotions, overwhelming and threatening rage as fierce as a storm.
Questions are raised. Questions that haven’t come to the
surface for years – the reality of mortality, my own and others, the questions
of eternity and wanting to know that I know…..A new hunger for understanding
the heavenly realm and longing to feel the nearness of Christ. But grief is a
process, and I found myself in a battle – a battle of trying to be strong, to
push through, deal with my anger, bitterness, rage, questions and finally land
at some point of acceptance and move on. At least that’s what Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
said should happen. Maybe they’re fluid and dynamic, but there’s a certain
process to grief. After losing my first child and my grandfather within two
days of each other and now my grandmother, I’m not so sure any more.
I’ve found myself at a crossroads of sort – and it’s a
choice I must make. I can go on like I have been in my own strength and futilely
attempting to control and direct my emotions. Or I can turn and gaze into the
face of the one who is a Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief. So often, I
find myself turning my back on Comfort, himself. I run away from Peace seeking
some sort of artificial replacement in this world. Surely he has borne my
sorrows. After all, he holds my tears in a bottle. Why should I be scared to allow him to see and
hold my hurting heart? Why should I deny the pain of loss on this earth? Jesus
Christ was familiar with the sting of death. He withdrew to grieve for a time
on hearing of John the Baptist’s death. He wept at Lazarus grave. And his
bloody sweat ran down his face as he was in agony over his own death. He soul
rend and torn so that I, we, could find ultimate comfort in Him – the Prince of
Peace.
It’s true. Death is not natural or normal. It was not a part
of original design, but a part of the curse. I can rage over these things
righteously. For my Savior grieves in the same way. When I look up into his
face, tears clouding my eyes, I see the gentlest compassion and deepest mercy.
The very nearness of Christ brings light and helps me to understand how his
heart breaks with mine. And now I can see clearly too, the tears that fill his
eyes as well.
