The blessing of mourning
There is a time to mourn. And much fights against our doing it. But what short-circuits our grief also blocks us from Jesus’ promise of comfort and blessing.
There is a time to mourn. And much fights against our doing it. But what short-circuits our grief also blocks us from Jesus’ promise of comfort and blessing.
Was there grief in that ark? Yes! Was there tension? Absolutely. And anger. And fear. So many emotions; such great loss. Yet through it all, they were upheld.
Repeatedly, in Scripture, the Lord reveals the anguish that divorcing his people causes him. Yet at times, he’s responded to nonstop betrayals in just that way.
Darkness can increase disorientation. It can increase anxiety and depression. Can something similar be true spiritually? Can spiritual sundowner’s be a thing?
Even when people I love fight against it, I choose light. As I dare to go with God where fear, obligation and guilt forbid, I find hope and joy. I choose life.
In the very act of seeing what is brown, murky and decidedly unsafe, there’s movement. There’s life. And the light is breaking through.
It feels wonderful to find yourself waiting in quiet hope and encouraging others to do the same. It feels dreadful to seek the God you thought you knew while hope continues to hide. It feels like a betrayal on God’s part, or a failure on yours, or both.
Long ago and far away, God promised a scattered people, “I will be a sanctuary to you during your time in exile,” and, “I will gather you back.”
In a very real way, I was there when my great-great-grandfather Lorenzo Whitaker survived the Civil War, and more specifically, the Battle of Gettysburg.