Some moments hurt so bad; sorrow upon sorrow like the waves crashing without rhythm or predictability (Lusko, 54-57).
I have hope and comfort and redemption, but sometimes I just want to give grief and disappointment its space. I just want to wallow a minute in my pain. I want to sob and scream and curse. I want to lash out. I don’t want to build perseverance or know how to comfort others. I don’t want beauty from ashes because I never wanted the ashes. I want to throw the biggest fit I can muster and demand a different story, because I don’t like this one.
These moments I often feel guilty for my wallowing as I know how much I’ve been given, but I’m so angry and hurt that my son is gone. I want him back. I want to wake up from this horror.
I’m learning God feels this way too. He never wanted tragedy. He gets angry too. He despises death. I feel the spiritual war that we’ve been in since the Garden of Eden.
But he allowed it; He knew it was coming and he let it happen. I’m angry again. He’s raised plenty of people from the dead. Even this week I saw the trailer for the upcoming movie Breakthrough where a 14-year-old was brought back to life.
Am I not spiritual enough? Do I not have enough faith to receive this type of miracle? Do I not even have a mustard seed size of faith? I bargain, I’d be up for a Hollywood movie. I’ll shout your praises… just raise. my. child.
It’s been two months today and I spent much of my night wrestling these emotions. I wasn’t wrestling well – just wrestling.
I’ve spent my week customizing wall art for the playroom and finally purchasing the momentums I picked out a month ago. Several times I found myself slipping away to the laundry room to hide my overflow of tears from my young boys.
The rest of my week has been caring for my family as they’ve been sick. I woke around midnight to realize the virus had attacked me. Happy Valentine’s Day.
I’m weary and wounded: Physically but much more so emotionally. I’m at war.
I’ve been actively working and fighting to keep my head above the waves by changing my lenses to see the big picture and trying to lean in and trust the Almighty.
But tonight I’m so weary. It’s just too much. I want to cue the eagles (Lusko, 88- 92). I want to soar (Isaiah 40:30-31). I know my anchor is in Heaven and the Holy Spirit winches me in (Lusko, 97-99) (Hebrews 6:19-20), but tonight I wrestle.
[much of the imagery in this blog is from Levi Lusko’s explanation of scripture in his book, Through the Eyes of a Lion. I have been reading it this week and have found it breathtaking to see even when we have our own unique ways of grieving, scripture covers us all. I much appreciate Levi explaining the nautical terms as it has made these scriptures clearer for me.]