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.
The devotional The
LORD Never Fails appeared first on
Write From My Heart at https://writefrommyheartblog.blogspot.com
Email: Dotty Willmon, writefrommyheartblog@gmail.com
Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from The
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2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Scripture quotations marked
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2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House
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