Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4
Death casts a shadow wide and long.
The impact of suffering on those who've borne witness is unexpectedly immense. There really are no words for this kind of heart-wrenching experience. We are impacted to the core, the very center of our beings, in ways that are difficult to comprehend.
When you've loved well, you grieve deep. When you've opened your heart and been all kinds of vulnerable, loss is multi-faceted and raw. We are left fragile, tender to the touch. Hard grief costs, it doesn't come cheap, and there is a lingering price-tag on body, mind, and soul.
The shadow is death's calling card and it lingers unbidden for those who remain earthbound, those who have suffered loss but have not yet been freed to the bliss of eternal life with Father, Son, and Spirit.
We navigate the fierce winds of grief's storm as He faithfully cradles us close. We venture forward, one day, sometimes one hour, at a time. Each tearful sigh and deep breath become a lavish grace.
And the promised new-every-morning mercies whisper a richly blessed assurance that there is hope, a healing of sorts. For we can slowly emerge from being torn and tattered into one who grows into a wounded healer. A soul who's been there done that, whose heart beats kinder, more empathetic, and far wiser than humanly possible.
We don't grieve like those who do not experience the promises and comfort of Jesus Himself. Yet, we will never be the same. And that could end up being a very good thing.
Linda
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photo by Tirza van Dijk on Unsplash
