joy comes in the morning
I don't usually cry when I hear news about an upcoming wedding. An excited shout or a shoulder jiggle usually does the trick for me, but tears aren't usually commonplace. The e-mail marriage announcement came from a friend who had also been our neighbor in Germany. She has been a widow for several years now. I shared in my previous piece how our small military community rallied around this woman to offer whatever support she needed. I don't think my words, however, could adequately express how grace could flow so abundantly in this season of sadness.
I learned a lot about God's mercy that spring, that it often flows most abundantly in a time of deep need, trouble or sorrow. Yet my sympathy for my friend had a grain of selfishness in it, relief that it was not Steve that we were mourning. And I held inside that fear of loss, fear of death. God has a way of teaching us, I've noticed, that if we don't grasp onto His truth the first time, He finds other ways that might better bring understanding.
God took Steve away from me for a year in Iraq, two years later. Even though he was alive, I felt such an emptiness, a painful ache from the separation, that my grieving was like mourning. Yet I still had that fear and the grief of losing his actual presence. Unlike my friend, I held onto that grief for months, held on until I was tired, depressed and cynical. It wasn't until the eighth month and a few harrowing emails between Steve and God snapped me out of my depressed state. I had justified my grief, my anger, my fears. Yet in this, I had refused the comfort of God, of friends and of my husband. The very mercy flowing into my friend's life was the mercy that I now refused. And when I finally fell on my knees and received it, it was like life started up again.
I needed to let go of the grief because it was slowly draining me of life. When I received my friend's letter, I realized that for years, I have not wanted to share her story because it was very painful and personal to me. In that, I have not moved on. I don't know all that my friend went through after she left Germany, but I know that she continued to live, to grow, to find joy in life. She bought a new home, raised her three children as a single mom, ran a 10K race and looks fabulous. From her latest letter, I know that she met a man, dated him for over a year and has accepted his proposal of marriage. She has let go of the grief and embraced life.
Joy comes in the morning. Do I believe that? Do I believe that the same God that allows suffering and tragedy come into our lives will also pour out blessing, fullness, joy? That Jesus was serious when He said that He came to give us life, and life more abundantly? Both in times of fullness and in times of lack. The Psalmist says, "those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy..." I know that every story does not end happily, but I rejoice with my friend in this time of celebration.
To God be the glory.
I learned a lot about God's mercy that spring, that it often flows most abundantly in a time of deep need, trouble or sorrow. Yet my sympathy for my friend had a grain of selfishness in it, relief that it was not Steve that we were mourning. And I held inside that fear of loss, fear of death. God has a way of teaching us, I've noticed, that if we don't grasp onto His truth the first time, He finds other ways that might better bring understanding.
God took Steve away from me for a year in Iraq, two years later. Even though he was alive, I felt such an emptiness, a painful ache from the separation, that my grieving was like mourning. Yet I still had that fear and the grief of losing his actual presence. Unlike my friend, I held onto that grief for months, held on until I was tired, depressed and cynical. It wasn't until the eighth month and a few harrowing emails between Steve and God snapped me out of my depressed state. I had justified my grief, my anger, my fears. Yet in this, I had refused the comfort of God, of friends and of my husband. The very mercy flowing into my friend's life was the mercy that I now refused. And when I finally fell on my knees and received it, it was like life started up again.
I needed to let go of the grief because it was slowly draining me of life. When I received my friend's letter, I realized that for years, I have not wanted to share her story because it was very painful and personal to me. In that, I have not moved on. I don't know all that my friend went through after she left Germany, but I know that she continued to live, to grow, to find joy in life. She bought a new home, raised her three children as a single mom, ran a 10K race and looks fabulous. From her latest letter, I know that she met a man, dated him for over a year and has accepted his proposal of marriage. She has let go of the grief and embraced life.
Joy comes in the morning. Do I believe that? Do I believe that the same God that allows suffering and tragedy come into our lives will also pour out blessing, fullness, joy? That Jesus was serious when He said that He came to give us life, and life more abundantly? Both in times of fullness and in times of lack. The Psalmist says, "those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy..." I know that every story does not end happily, but I rejoice with my friend in this time of celebration.
To God be the glory.
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