I bawled my eyes out this morning while I was reading a children’s book.
I sat on the living room floor, cross legged, with my seven-month-old. He squirmed in my lap and twisted himself around so he could stare at my face. Confused, he bobbed his paci in his mouth and rested his head into the hollow under my chin.
We both sat quietly while searing hot grief forced itself out from behind my eyelids and streamed familiarly onto my cheeks.
It was a Tuesday, and I was grieving the sudden, brutal death of my brother. Ten weeks had passed since the phone call that had rocked my world. Normalcy turned to shock and waves of gut-wrenching grief as we found out that Kenneth’s life had ended on his way to high school.
Today, sitting on the living room floor with my son, I was reading Just In Case You Ever Wonder. Normally, Max Lucado isn’t my go-to author. But the words struck me deeply. Lucado described God in words a child can understand:
He loves you.
He protects you.
He and His angels are always watching over you.
And God wants to make sure you know about heaven. It’s a wonderful place.
There are no tears there.
No monsters.
No mean people.
You never have to say “good-bye” or “good-night” or “I’m hungry.”
You never get cold or sick or afraid.
In heaven you are so close to God that He will hug you, just like I hug you. It’s going to be wonderful. I will be there too. I promise. We will be there together, forever. Remember that… just in case you ever wonder.
The Wondering
And as I sat, cross-legged on the living room floor, with a baby resting his head against me, I realized that the “just in case” was happening to me. I was wondering.
Where was God?
Had He turned his back when my brother’s body was brutally crushed? Could I trust Him to keep His promises when it seemed He’d forgotten about my little brother?
And how do I be a mother in the wake of this shipwreck? How do I point my son to Jesus when it seems He’s forgotten us? How do I teach my son to trust God when my trust is shattered?
And how do I show my son how to love God when my love for Him is frozen in pain?
What Is Grief Like?
I’ve never experienced grief like this before. I had been through difficult things as a child and young adult, but those things had made me closer to God and to my siblings. Now, loosing a sibling felt cruel, and God felt distant.
In the early days, grief had felt gut-wrenching and absolutely impossible to navigate. I remember feeling as if I couldn’t breathe at the thought of not seeing my brother again. My chest was tight and the grief felt crushing.
While I knew Kenneth’s personality and soul still lived, I had never seen that soul express itself other than through my brother’s face, eyes, smile, hug, laugh, or words. The thought of his body returning to dust broke me.
The arms that had so often hugged me tightly were now reduced to a fine dust. The blue eyes that had so often disappeared into the creases of his smile had now vanished from existence. In place of my brother’s vibrant, energetic self, we were handed a small box of ashes. Colorless, emotionless, and silent, the ashes of Kenneth’s death seemed to be a cruel mockery of his life, the farthest thing from his personality. That shoebox-sized package was all we had left of the person we had known and loved for eighteen years.
The Aftermath
After the funeral, I dreaded waking up each morning. I felt as if a bomb had gone off in the middle of my life, and the ledge around the chasm was narrow. I tiptoed around the bottomless hole in my life, afraid to fall in, knowing that the grief would suffocate me if I allowed myself to feel it. I couldn’t get away from my grief; it pervaded every part of my life.
As the weeks went on, the grief softened, but numbness and fear set in. I struggled to function. And I held my husband tightly each night, afraid that he would die before I had a chance to hug him again. I’d lay my son down in his crib, then check on him multiple times during his nap, terrified I’d find my baby not breathing.
And I had no love for Jesus. I could go to church, hear the music, and feel nothing. I had no emotion. While I clung to him for survival, I had no other motive for speaking to Him.
I remember telling my husband, “I feel as if I’m clinging to Jesus like He’s a piece of debris after a shipwreck. It’s keeping me afloat, but my hands are cut and bleeding. I’m hanging on because my survival depends on it, but I have no love for the debris that’s cutting my hands even while I cling to it.”
The Ultimate Paradox
God is all-powerful and all-loving. But my brother died brutally under his watch.
And yet, griefs much greater than mine are common in this world.
God is just, and yet innocent babies and children are violated every day.
God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and yet these children’s darkest moments are sold cheaply for quick entertainment.
How do these truths coexist? How can we place our trust in an all-powerful, all-knowing King who allows these things to take place in His Kingdom?
The Bible portrays pain and brokenness honestly. It doesn’t sugar coat what life in a broken world looks like. I’ve found myself reading my Bible differently, these days.
Jeremiah’s Story
The book of Lamentations is starting to come alive to me. I’ve always known the background: the book is written by Jeremiah, a prophet who is exiled, along with the rest of his nation, as a result of Israel’s rejection of God.
But as I read the book now, Jeremiah’s emotions seem to be painted in painfully vivid colors. The destruction of Jerusalem is not simply a political fall. It’s a horror story, a brutal blow that spares no one. Children are starving, ragged on the streets. Mothers are turning to cannibalism. Families are dying in each other’s arms. The smell of death permeates the city. Women are raped on the street, and no one can protect them. The king of Israel helplessly watches as his beloved children are murdered in front of him.
Because the corporate nation has sinned, innocent children are suffering. Because evil leaders have walked away from God, people who have loved God are dying, too. The innocent and guilty are both brutally murdered.
Jeremiah describes pain greater than I can fathom.
But after experiencing more trauma than most of us will ever experience in a lifetime, Jeremiah writes these beautiful words:
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.” (Lam. 3:22-23)
As I read that, I am stunned.
I see destruction that blazes into Jerusalem as relentlessly as the desert sun, but Jeremiah describes mercies that flood the city with every sunrise.
Why does Jeremiah say that? How can he see love, mercy, and faithfulness in starvation, brutality, and death?
Job’s Story
I’ve always known Job’s story too. I’ve known that he was a wealthy man who lost everything because Satan determined to destroy Job’s love for God. I knew that Job questioned God, but that he eventually came to a place of trust in God.
But truly, I’ve never understood the depth of pain when death strikes close.
Again, I’m amazed when I read the words that came from Job’s mouth when he heard that he had lost his wealth and his family:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
And naked shall I return.
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
Blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21)
And while Job goes through a time of anger, rebellion, and questioning, he doesn’t give up on his relationship with God. Maybe it’s because even during the pain, he clings to one thing:
“I know that my redeemer lives,
and that in the end he will stand on the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed,
yet in my flesh I will see God;
I myself will see him
with my own eyes—I, and not another.
How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:25-27)
Through their unspeakable pain, both Jeremiah and Job realized that there was hope. They realized that there would be a Redeemer, someone who would defeat the curse of death.
As I read their stories, I am amazed at these men’s responses to tragedy. How do they respond the way they do? I don’t know, but I am determined to find out.
How Does the Gospel Reach Into Our Pain?
The Gospel climaxes in the most brutal injustice in the history of time.
The God who created the universe now allows His physical body to be destroyed. The Creator who breathed life into the world drags in his last, ragged breath as he hangs above the ground. The One who has always been alive allows Himself to experience death. God is no stranger to pain.
And in His death, we are given a new life. In His resurrection, we have hope that the grave will not have the final say. Jesus’ death gave me peace with God.
As I marvel at the pain of the Gospel story, I realize something. If God can use the greatest injustice in the history of the world for His glory and our good, He can use my brother’s death, too.
My Journey
I am still grieving. Still asking God why. Still feeling crushed. I still struggle to trust God to take care of my loved ones.
The only way I can point my son to Jesus is by my example, right now.
I’m not boldly, confidently in love with Jesus like I used to be. My relationship with Jesus is more of a sobbing, reaching, stumbling, brokenness right now. But Jeremiah and Job’s stories give me a way forward.
Someday I’ll be able to look back and see God’s mercy through this time, like Jeremiah did. But for today, it is enough to know, like Job, that I have a Redeemer and that He lives. I know that He will someday make everything right, and I am so grateful for the promise that He will defeat death.
Practical Resources
There are a couple of resources that I’ve found really helpful. If you are going through something like this, first, feel free to reach out to me. I don’t have all the answers, and I realize that you need to find your own answers right now. But I will cry with you.
Second, the book Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament has been super helpful. It was very difficult to go through this book at first, but worth reading.
The old prayer book Every Moment Holy can also be helpful. The eloquent, beautiful language helps me to put words to the deep sorrow I feel. Journaling can also be helpful.
Find songs that seem to acknowledge the depth of your pain, as well as the goodness of God. Make a playlist to listen to. Your songs will be different than mine, and you will need to find songs that mean a lot to you personally. Play those songs often. Sometimes music speaks to your soul when nothing else can.
Time does help, too. Grief does get softer with time. I understand the pain, and I’m so sorry.
But the beautiful truth is that Jesus understands your pain too.
With love,
Lynette
Credit for This Post’s Beautiful Photography Goes To:
Lina Kivaka on Pexels.com, Alan Cabello on Pexels.com, Richard Pan on Pexels.com, RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com, Stein Egil Liland on Pexels.com, Brett Sayles on Pexels.com, Julia Volk on Pexels.com, Pixabay on Pexels.com, Thomas Shockey on Pexels.com, Alisa Velieva on Pexels.com, Tatiana Syrikova on Pexels.com, Pixabay on Pexels.com.