Till We Are Home

This past weekend I spent time with some friends, catching up and sharing some laughs. The conversation eventually turned to looking ahead in life and what do we hope for in the coming years. My friends shared their own hopes as it related to their walks with the Lord, families, health, and various other goals. When my turn came around, I sat there thinking.

Thinking.

Thinking. 

In that moment, grief surprised me. 

I could not think of any goals or hopes for the immediate future. Days long ago, my wife and I spoke often about our dreams. We hoped the Lord would do wonderful things in our life whether moving to fun and exciting places, achievements, new adventures, our children’s futures, etc. Lately…well, in the past two and a half years, those talks of dreams stopped. Ever since losing Isabel, we do not dream like we used to.

That hit me in the face as I sat with these dear brothers, hearing about their “normal” lives and speaking of things that used to so easily roll off my own tongue. I am delighted for them and what the Lord may do in their life…knowing also that their roads are not always easy. So, when I say that I heard about their “normal” lives, I do not hold anything against them in the least. 

However, when my mind went blank, my heart grew dim, and I could not find the words to express any hopes or dreams…grief’s continuing habitation in my life surprised me.

Days pass on lately when I feel that maybe I’m not as beleaguered as I feared. Some days pass and life feels somewhat normal. Or so I thought…grief always catches up. When it does, it can be surprising. Times hanging with friends hit differently nowadays. 

The surprise is not that I’m grieving still. How could I not? My very own daughter died. I will always grieve. 

The surprise comes because of how hard it hits…reminding me it never left me at all. That surprising grief unmasks my new normal that tried to hide, a deep shadow that never existed before. That deep shadow lodged in my heart, darkening each step I take. The shadow of sadness for my girl that I lost.

Normal activities like hanging with friends, sharing life together, dreaming of what the Lord may do now comes with a weight I carry in grief. 

Yet, though I can still be surprised by my grief, it does not surprise the Lord one bit.

The other day I read the following passage from Luke 22:41-44,

And he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.

As Jesus approached the cross, knowing full well what awaited Him in the coming hours, great agony mixed with trust in His Father. Agony can coincide with trust.

In my agony, an agony of a father missing his little girl…an agony that comes from surprising grief…trust does not have to be absent. I clearly carry the weight of grief like an ever-present shadow at noon. That grief brings great agony at times, especially when I’m surprised by it like this weekend. However, that surprising, agonizing grief cannot rob me of continuing to trust in the Lord. 

As Paul said in Ephesians 2:8, God grants His children faith, trust in Him, as a gift. As such, He grants me the ability to continue trusting in Him when life seems upside down. I don’t know why He put me on this road, a road so vastly different than some of those around me, but He did.

And, He is good.

He is all wise.

So, I can trust Him in my agony when grief still surprises me. 

I will miss my daughter till my dying day. That grief will not leave me. I will live with the agony of it as I think on my sweet girl and what a light and life she brought that I won’t enjoy for the rest of my days. Yet, I can continue to trust my God who put me on this path for His own reasons, find comfort in Him in the midst of my agony, and say like my Savior, not my will but yours be done…

Till we are home…