Don't Turn your Back

My maternal grandparents lived in Kitty Hawk, in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I have many summer memories of the beach - sand, waves, fishing off the pier, and finding toads in the outdoor shower. One lesson my parents did well to teach me from as early as I can remember was "Don't turn your back on the ocean". The ocean, while steady in its tidal schedules, can be unpredictable in the power of the waves that come, sometimes small and gentle, and at other times, suddenly larger, stronger. If one of those larger and stronger waves catches you unprepared, it can very easily pull you into its swirling, suffocating darkness.

Grief, I have discovered, is much like the ocean. No matter how much I am aware of it, I often find myself unprepared, with my back towards its reality... and then I am caught, suffocating, swirling in confusion. It happens so unpredictably. While at Home Depot, something unknown reminds me of how my boys used to be excitedly waiting to "be taller than Aunt Becca". The phone rings, and our hearts catch, wondering if the caller brings good or devastating news. Checking voice mails brings back the remembered messages of callers, voices choked with shared sorrow, leaving condolences. Our screensaver cycles through pictures, every now and then displaying a beautiful smile that we all miss. These swift memories, seemingly from out of nowhere, leave me gasping for breath, feeling such a weight on my chest that there seems no room for air.

While this is not new to the so, so many who have experienced loss before, it is new to us. Our lives were comparatively blissfully calm, with only gentle, small waves of pain lapping in now and then, generally easy to ride out, escape from, or avoid. Now, we find ourselves still reeling from the initial tidal wave of shock and sorrow, and our balance is unsteady at best. The ocean of mourning is just like an ocean of water. There's no turning one's back on it, trying to pretend all is "back to normal" and move forward in that way. There's moving forward, yes, but in a different way than before. The ocean of grief has to be acknowledged, not ignored, and moving forward often means walking along side the waters, rather than away from it. And sometimes, it means facing the waters head on, even as we slowly make our way toward safety.

And what is our safety in this struggle, in our desperate gasps for air and fight against this tide of sorrow? Thankfully, we have One. And while the pain lingers, He promises us that He will carry us through it:

"...Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you..."
Isaiah 43:1b-2a

Lord, please continue to comfort us as we heal.