Halloween & Where My Heart Goes
Written earlier this week but too timid to post...
The thought of his decaying body near Halloween troubles me terribly. I’ve pressed my body to the ground and wailed for the desire to be near to him was so great that I chose something so seemingly strange to lessen the anguish of his distance. Insects crawling on my body only intensified the wailing from the depths of my soul. How could this be my son surrounded by dirt and worms? I have tucked him right into the crook of my neck to feel the warmth of his heavy breathing just as his little body gave way to rest. I carried him in my body, nursed him at my breast soaking in the sounds of his satisfaction, and cleaned that pudgy little tush countless times. I know all the different twinkles in his eye and what they mean. Surely, this terrifying anguish is some altered reality that I can escape. Yet, it’s not. This is my lot to bear, the cross I have been given to carry. In a sense, I know Haddy is not there in the grave, yet in another I cannot help but keep returning to where his body lays. The mystery of death still haunts me. It isn’t cute or funny. I wake up every morning with crushing chest pain. The gravity of death wrecks my dreams, sits squarely on my chest, and touches every aspect of my living.
The thought of his decaying body near Halloween troubles me terribly. I’ve pressed my body to the ground and wailed for the desire to be near to him was so great that I chose something so seemingly strange to lessen the anguish of his distance. Insects crawling on my body only intensified the wailing from the depths of my soul. How could this be my son surrounded by dirt and worms? I have tucked him right into the crook of my neck to feel the warmth of his heavy breathing just as his little body gave way to rest. I carried him in my body, nursed him at my breast soaking in the sounds of his satisfaction, and cleaned that pudgy little tush countless times. I know all the different twinkles in his eye and what they mean. Surely, this terrifying anguish is some altered reality that I can escape. Yet, it’s not. This is my lot to bear, the cross I have been given to carry. In a sense, I know Haddy is not there in the grave, yet in another I cannot help but keep returning to where his body lays. The mystery of death still haunts me. It isn’t cute or funny. I wake up every morning with crushing chest pain. The gravity of death wrecks my dreams, sits squarely on my chest, and touches every aspect of my living.
Halloween is coming again. I have conflicting emotions and there are disturbing images everywhere I turn. Yet, I’ll join in and wear a costume, give sticky candy to my neighborhood kids, and I’ll turn my head from that which triggers fear and anxiety. I’ll make my best effort to relish in the chatter of my children over making their costume fit their desires. On the outside, I may appear whole-heartedly content. You see, I’m willing myself to live WITH my people, to be among the living. I’m pleading with God to move in my heart mightily and bring hope to the darkness of navigating the death of my beloved son. You see, the grave still has a hold on me and I just don’t know what to do about it but plead.
When we sit on Haddon’s grave and plead, the platitudes and strange Christian things we say feel even more distant and robotic. “He’s not there,” and “He’s in a better place,” only leave me nodding that kind nod where inside you want to scream. It makes me feel more alone than I already do. His small frame laid in a miniature, white casket with his blanket, Dino, and a handful of roses on his tender little chest, the same chest that was so content to melt into mine like butter. Haddon’s intimate little heart, I watched as they lowered him down into the grave. So, in some way, Haddy’s there. I know his true self, his soul, is with Jesus. Still, the cruelty of his absence leaves me desperate, pleading, and searching for some way to be near. You see, the grave is my real life. Death, it still stings. My pleading is often a simple, “God help me. I can’t do this. I’m not cut out for this. God help me!”
At the grave, my body gives way to wrecking grief and I wail and weep for my boy, the one my soul longs for. I let it come until my body is worn and my eyelids are swollen. In time, through exhaustion and pleading, truth comes. I remember. Jesus’s body also laid in a tomb but for only three days, the Son of God slain for my sin. Brutal agony. His pleading, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?,” lingers in my mind. Lament. In His dying, in the midst of the very agony of separation from the Father, He teaches me lament. I’ll never know that kind of separation because He chose it so I wouldn’t have to. In the wearying tears, the uninhibited wailing, and the desperation of my own heart in the gravity of loss, I find myself incapable of making sense of any of the details of my bitter providence. I surrender. All that I have and all that I am is laid bare. It’s often in these desperate, vulnerable moments that the gentle rain of repentance comes from the remembrance of Jesus’s death and subsequent resurrection. It is the kindness of God to draw me to repentance. The gentle rain washes away bitterness over and over again. I hear the whispers of His Word in my heart from years of reading it’s pages. Those words come to me fresh and I remember again that my lot is but a tiny morsel of anguish in comparison to my Lord. Often, wearied from the barrage of emotion and thought, I meditate upon the resurrection. Hope. When, I ponder upon His resurrection, relishing in the wonder that my Father sacrificed His own Son to set me free, defeating sin, death, and hell for me, I can then say, “Therefore, I have hope.” It may be but a weary whisper but it’s still mine to cling to. Take a look in the book of Lamentations. Those words are tucked between some chilling lament. I thank God for that.
At the grave, my body gives way to wrecking grief and I wail and weep for my boy, the one my soul longs for. I let it come until my body is worn and my eyelids are swollen. In time, through exhaustion and pleading, truth comes. I remember. Jesus’s body also laid in a tomb but for only three days, the Son of God slain for my sin. Brutal agony. His pleading, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?,” lingers in my mind. Lament. In His dying, in the midst of the very agony of separation from the Father, He teaches me lament. I’ll never know that kind of separation because He chose it so I wouldn’t have to. In the wearying tears, the uninhibited wailing, and the desperation of my own heart in the gravity of loss, I find myself incapable of making sense of any of the details of my bitter providence. I surrender. All that I have and all that I am is laid bare. It’s often in these desperate, vulnerable moments that the gentle rain of repentance comes from the remembrance of Jesus’s death and subsequent resurrection. It is the kindness of God to draw me to repentance. The gentle rain washes away bitterness over and over again. I hear the whispers of His Word in my heart from years of reading it’s pages. Those words come to me fresh and I remember again that my lot is but a tiny morsel of anguish in comparison to my Lord. Often, wearied from the barrage of emotion and thought, I meditate upon the resurrection. Hope. When, I ponder upon His resurrection, relishing in the wonder that my Father sacrificed His own Son to set me free, defeating sin, death, and hell for me, I can then say, “Therefore, I have hope.” It may be but a weary whisper but it’s still mine to cling to. Take a look in the book of Lamentations. Those words are tucked between some chilling lament. I thank God for that.
21 But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;[a]
his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:21-23
Dear friends, it is true that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. I struggle to believe that in every moment. There are times that my anguishing heart is so ravaged by pain that I’m afraid it’s all I see. Yet, through sometimes just sheer muscle memory I lay myself out before God and plead for mercy. It comes. He shows Himself tenderly through His Word, through His people, and in the comfort of pouring out lament through prayer. Will you bring all of your pleading before the Lord and let Him have His way? Will you weary yourself toward Him even amidst all of the questions that rise up within you? He is worthy. Most of all, He is faithful to fulfill the promises He made. His mercies never come to an end.
Dear friends, it is true that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. I struggle to believe that in every moment. There are times that my anguishing heart is so ravaged by pain that I’m afraid it’s all I see. Yet, through sometimes just sheer muscle memory I lay myself out before God and plead for mercy. It comes. He shows Himself tenderly through His Word, through His people, and in the comfort of pouring out lament through prayer. Will you bring all of your pleading before the Lord and let Him have His way? Will you weary yourself toward Him even amidst all of the questions that rise up within you? He is worthy. Most of all, He is faithful to fulfill the promises He made. His mercies never come to an end.
A good read from Nancy Guthrie...
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/from-dust-of-earth-to-breath-of-life/
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/from-dust-of-earth-to-breath-of-life/
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