The Author of Neverendings

Last week, commencing on Friday and culminating in the gala event on Sunday, I RSVP’d to a black tie formal pity party.  I wallowed in it.  Refused to talk myself out it.  Succumbed to the sultry seductive hiss, hiss, hiss of Satan’s licking lies massaging my brain.  Whispering failure, regret.  Blowing a hot breath of doubt, fear, guilt, shame, and caressing my mind close to the gaping hole of evil’s heart of darkness.

I knew what I was doing. Over and over, I kept reminding myself that walking or not through this open door to black, empty darkness is an everyday choice.  At any moment, I could choose to pray my way out of it.  My hand could turn on the light in my soul, and I could reenter the peace and presence of God.  But I didn’t want to, said no, slid deeper.  I was so tired.  So sad.  So debilitated by it all.  I couldn’t even pray. Yep, I wallowed – like a pig in slop – gowned in manure fully aware of the stench.

     “Did you ever have days when you couldn’t pray?” I eeked out between tears splashing on the keyboard.

     “He hears your groanings,” she replied knowing it is true because He answered hers.

On Sunday, I gave up.  Gave it all up.  Poured the garbage into my journal.  Begged God to stop the seductive voice of counterfeit truth, to refresh, heal, expunge, bleach me back to light, not even knowing if I truly believed He could.  And He did.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?

Grief is okay.  Jesus wept.  Moderation is the golden nugget.  The Truth is that when we allow grief to overwhelm us to the point where it impacts our ability to function in life and carry out God’s plans for us, then it is no longer grief.  It is sin.  And I was sinking in it until dumping it out at the throne of grace.

I’m heartbroken.  But I have to remember that is not all I am.  I am the blessed mother of three unbelievable children who take my breath away.  Zach is Home.  The girls daily paint my life with their laughter, hugs, smiles, tears, and love and daily teach me life is still full of joy, and reason, and God.  I am a wife with the gift of a husband who cradles my sobbing shell in his arms until the flesh and bones and blood come back to feeling life and not death, who lives the promises he made at “I do,” who makes me so much better than I could ever be alone, who practices love as a verb.  I am a member of an earthly family and a family in Christ who circle around me like Spartan warriors protecting my gossamer skin, no longer thick and calloused, from the tail of the slashing dragon.

Because I am redeemed, I can halt that serpent’s whisperings of sweet nothings in my ear.  When it is quiet, God reminds me that for Zach, death is not loss; it is gain. It is eternal presence in His light. God hears and sees and recalls to my mind that He is the Author of the happiest of neverendings.  Zach is in His presence living that adventure.  In Christ, I can rest, and I can wonder at how green the heavenly lacrosse fields must be…