MOVING THE ANCIENT BOUNDARIES

Her text message was devastating.

Every ounce of joy along with every want-to-smile drained from my heart. And I wept like only another childless mother weeps.

My friend’s grandbaby died. An infant, a little over two months old. Future plans, hopes and dreams, gone in an instant.

My mind raced back twelve years to that other phone call. The first one that wiped the smile from my soul.

I remember wondering if my brain would ever again send a message that would  warm my heart and allow the crinkling lines that used to etch the corners of my eyes, relax the muscles of my lips, and direct them to remember their upward path?

‘Til then I found myself dumped on the sidewalk of life, gasping for air, flopping like a fish out-of-water. Hating morning. Fearing evening and everything in between. Part of me wanted to die and the other half lacked the faith to live.

In those-after-days I cried, “Oh, Lord Jesus, help my not-even-mustard-seed sized faith.”

Death. What an ugly word. My heart ripped open. A bleeding, gaping hole. Days saturated with helplessness and hopelessness droned on like a freight-train-to-no-where.

I was tired, but sleep fled. My neck and shoulders ached from the iron weight of grief. My stomach growled but food was repulsive. All were symptoms. Symptoms of grief from the unexpected death of our twenty-eight year old daughter.

But the loss of an infant adds a multitude of extra layers to grief. Not of what we will miss, but the loss of what will never be. This side of eternity.

Ambiguous thoughts randomly pop-up like troublesome boogers in a parent’s or grandparent’s mind. What would the little one have become? Who would this gift from God have looked like? Mom or Dad? Maybe a grandparent. Whose personality would the sweet dumpling have reflected? Each image is like grabbing onto Jell-O. Yet, each painful mirage must be grieved.

The “if only” mud puddles grow murky and deep. Storm clouds of anger and resentment over unfulfilled dreams and expectations bluster and, if we’re not careful, send us spinning in a vortex of self-destruction.

While the rest of the world continues to survive and thrive.

Everyone but the family.

Where do we go? What can we do? Will the pain ever subside? Will the anger and guilt leave?

Yes, but not as quickly as we hope.

But after God’s roto-rooter of grief has purged the frivolities of pretense from our hearts and souls, God Himself will have comforted our hearts and enlarged our capacity for joy and pain to reside. Together. Then we will become His physical arms of love and comfort to others about to enter this dark tunnel. We will stand ready to give witness to them that there is a day when their joy will return.

However, even when the light of the Son finally shines on our pathway, bringing us comfort, and our smiles return, tender scabs of grief will always remain, ready to bleed when scraped by another death.

Christ promises He will bring good out of the bad stuff—our certification that we have become conduits of His love. Conduits flowing with the river of His grace and strength, waiting to be poured out on those about to cross death’s threshold.

Christ told us death is an enemy. Adam and Eve didn’t understand and neither do we, until we are humbled in the presence of this powerful foe. Until we recognize our utter helplessness and are willing to lift our precious babies, with open hands, and give them back into the arms of our Father in Heaven.

King David’s infant son had been gravely ill and David mourned. But on the day the baby died, the King arose, bathed, dressed and ate and said, “He shall not return to me, but I shall go to him” (2 Samuel 12:15-23 NAS).   What a glorious promise.

One day those who have loved and trusted Jesus will be united with those who have gone before us. That’s a promise. Then we shall all attend the funeral of death. That’s God’s promise too.

As days grow darker here on this earth, know that your baby is alive. Healed and in the presence of God. Forever. And that precious one will never again have to die. And one day you will be with them, and there will be no more pain, no more tears and no more death. Forever.

So when your smile returns, and it will, that joy-filled-glow will radiate from deep in your soul and will give praise, honor, and glory to God and to The Lamb.

“The righteous man perishes, and no man takes it to heart; and devout men are taken away, while no one understands. For the righteous man is taken away from evil, he enters into peace; they rest in their beds, each one who walked in his upright way” (Isaiah 57:1-2 NAS).

If you have lost a child, a month ago, two years ago, or twenty years ago, and you are still struggling with grief, I urge you to go to www.griefshare.org and click on Find-A-Group. GriefShare offers practical, everyday helps in dealing with the issues we all face when losing a loved one. Please find a GriefShare group near you today and go for help, hope and comfort.