Lamentations 3:21-24 (NIV) 21Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: 22Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 23They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 24I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”
Zephaniah 3:5,8 (NIV) 5The LORD within [the city NLT] is righteous; he does no wrong. Morning by morning he dispenses his justice, and every new day he does not fail... 8“Therefore wait for me,” declares the LORD...
Today my Write From the Heart post will come from another person’s heart. The following post was originally posted on Facebook many years ago. The post focuses on grief after loss of life, but I feel it can also be applied to loss caused by distance and miles as well. I have no way to track the original post in order to credit its author, but I pass it on with appreciation for their willingness to share from their heart.
In response to the comment: My friend just died. I don’t know what to do., a self-proclaimed “old guy” writes the following response:
I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not.
I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folk. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents...
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.
Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical item. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them, too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
My dear readers, again I offer my sincere appreciation to the original author of this post; there is only one thing I would add. Remember the faithfulness of our LORD and loving Heavenly Father. He never fails. His mercies and compassions are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.
Gracious Heavenly Father,
Thank you for going with us through the shipwrecks of life. Thank you for the mercy and compassion you provide each day. You will never fail us nor forsake us. We abide in you.
In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
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Write From My Heart at https://writefrommyheartblog.blogspot.com
Email: Dotty Willmon, writefrommyheartblog@gmail.com
Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®, Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.