grieving with hope

1 Thessalonians 4:13 But we do not want you to be ignorant, brothers, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve like other people who have no hope.

I got dressed today. Put my hair in a pony tail and even put on a little make up. I emptied the dishwasher and did a load of towels. Ran a couple of errands and spoke with strangers. I hated it! I resent life resuming to normal. My new normal. I want to scream out against it. Yell at everyone to just stop, stop I’m not ready. Will I ever be ready? Why must life go on as normal?

But there is a God given purpose in my living. I must not grieve as one with no hope. I have hope. I will see Grant again, face to face, and we will spend eternity together. I must live like I believe it.

Christ made that possible for us, and I am more grateful than words can express. I must live like I believe it.

God’s word is true, His joy is my strength, His promises my hope, His presence my comfort. I must live like I believe it.

 Picking up, moving thru the grief, trying to resume normal life, and not letting death have victory, in the here and now, is living like I believe it. So I will feed the dog, balance the checkbook, and go to the grocery store, knowing that by doing these things I am putting God’s glory on display for the world to see, and living like I believe it.

Today, Grant, was supposed to turn 25. But instead, his ashes arrived today. I fall to my knees. I am undone. Breathe,  Alisa, breathe. The body that grew inside me, the body I bore, fed, cared for, now ashes. Breathe. The body, the warmth, the olive skin, the brown eyes, thick brunette hair, the smile that could light up a room, all burned, nothing but ash. Oh, God help me to breathe. The flesh and bone that held his precious soul, ash, all ash.  Finally released from weeks in a cold, dark morgue, but to this…left with a box of ashes. I clutch the box, gasp for air, and grasp for perfect recall.  I want to burn the sight and feel of him into my memory.  Every line of his face, his awkward hugs, his broad shoulders, the curve of  his jawline.

He’s still so alive in my memory, but this box, mocking me, screaming reality…the body once loved, gone, nothing but ash. Think, Alisa, memorize. Recall every detail as you cling to this box of ashes. These memories have to last you a lifetime.

Look to God, Alisa. Breathe. Look to Christ, look to the cross, look to the Word…”beauty for ashes, beauty for ashes” I hear you, Lord. But what does that even mean?!

Isaiah 61:3 To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them “beauty for ashes”, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified.

Ashes, the emblem of death. Ashes, powder that remains after something has been destroyed by burning. And there’s definitely no more beauty in ashes! Ashes, the only thing left when one’s dreams go up in smoke! Ashes, useless, hopeless, gone, blown away by the wind! But God you have said, You will give ‘beauty for ashes’! How God? How are you going to exchange this box of ash for something beautiful, something joyful?! Your word says you are going to take this difficult, disgusting, depressing and horrible situation and give us beauty in its place. Oh, Jesus, pick me up out of the ashes and make something beautiful out of this, as only you can. Beauty for ashes…

Grant, standing before the throne, in his robe of righteousness, I see the beauty. Grant,  in his perfect heavenly body, I can see it, the beauty. His days of pain and weeping are forever ended. The King of glory has wiped away any tears from his face. Every cause of grief has been removed. No more trials or pain. Such beauty. The giving of your own precious son to secure this for Grant, for me, and all who would believe…oh, the splendor. God of all comfort, bringing peace, even now, the majesty. Christ, sustaining my faith in my weakest moments, when I want to flee from God and never look back…but He holds me, never lets me go. What glorious beauty. And I believe too, there is beauty yet to be revealed, I am trusting there is beauty yet to behold, Lord, because you say there is!  I am looking, Lord, gazing at you and crying out, as I hold this box of ash, that was once my precious son. Help me to see the beauty, Lord, in these ashes…

Grant, spending his 25th birthday with his Savior, in paradise; oh, the unimaginable beauty. Happy Birthday, Grant. I love you and miss you more than words are even able to express.

Regrets. They are so painful. Oh, the things I wish I could go back and do differently. They sometimes haunt me in the middle of the night, when sleep won’t come. I lay there in the dark recalling the harsh tones, when I wasn’t getting the respect I thought I deserved. The anger, when things weren’t going my way. Losing my temper, for what now seems utterly ridiculous reasons. The countless times I didn’t believe the best but rather jumped to ungodly judgement. All of the times I was crossing something else off of my to-do list, when I should have been playing Legos.

Regrets, trying to eat the happiness out of my memories. Regrets, making this even more painful, if that’s even possible. Regrets, working up despair, because there are no do-overs. No, I must live with them. My regrets are a part of my life now. But they will not control me. I will not let them define who I am. And I will not look at them apart from the cross where I am forgiven. Dwelling on the past when you can’t go back and fix it, only poisons the future. Therefore, I will only look at you, regret, when standing in the shadow of the cross of Christ.

And regret, you do not have the last word. You will not eat me up. I, in fact, will use you.  Regret, I will use you to prod me into doing better with those still living. Regret, I will use you to remind me to grasp every moment and see the beauty in the small, seemingly insignificant things. Regret, you are teaching me to treasure every moment, and endure trials with patients and a soft, trusting heart. Regret, you are teaching me to value what God values most and put the eternal endeavors first on my to-do list. And best of all, regret, you have intensified my hope for that Great Day coming, when we can all throw ourselves into each other’s arms and rejoice, because there will be no more regrets!

Was I worshipping a God of my own creation? An Almighty Disneyland dad, who spoiled me rotten with all good gifts, and no discipline or correction? Or perhaps a God that resembles a Genie in a bottle, giving me everything I wished for? Was I wanting, no, expecting, all good gifts without any hardship, trial, or pain? Did I picture myself at the center of things, and my Heavenly Father just there to make me happy? Will this heartache reveal a different God, the only true God? Disney God, was never God, but rather a God of my own making.

If I worship God only when he makes sense to me, or find joy in my salvation only when things are going well, then I am worshipping a God of my own making, my own imagination, my own understanding. Losing Grant, has forced me to face that God does not direct the course of things according to my desires. In his plan, there are things that operate entirely outside of my preferences. But even in that, all things will somehow work together for good. This is the only true God.

It is pride, and it is absurd, to think my finite mind could understand and comprehend all of God’s infinite plans. It borders on ridiculous to assume I could figure out how tragic events can be used for good. No, the creator of all things created me, for His purposes.  He is the center of the Universe and His plans are as high as Heaven, and therefore beyond my comprehension. This is the only true God.

Did I expect a carefree, pain free, happy life from beginning to end? Why did I expect to be immune to this kind of suffering, when Jesus himself, my example, suffered on a cosmic scale for me?  Christ suffered an intense suffering nowhere equaled in all of history. Instead of explaining my suffering, God shares it. God Himself suffered, why did I think I would escape? What an absurd presumption!  And because He has suffered in every way that I have, he can comfort beyond comprehension. This is the only true God.

I will worship you Lord, even in those moments I don’t understand. I will trust you even in those moments that make no sense to me. I will love you Jesus, when you are giving gifts, and when you are taking them away. I can obey you God, even when I don’t know why, because you know why.  Your ways are not my ways, but I will choose to love you…the only true God, not one of my own imagination or understanding.

John 17:3 And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.

We recently sang this in church…the words seemed hollow…vinegar to the tongue. “All you have shown me is grace, love, and kindness” the words got stuck in my throat as I tried to sing them. It felt like I was singing a lie!

“All you have shown me is grace, love, and kindness”…That’s not true, Lord!  You have shown me torture, pain unmeasurable, crushing heartache, empty arms, gaping hole in my life….where is the grace, love, and kindness in that???  Where God, show me…I can’t see it. I am desperate to see it. I believed those words once. I still believe them, but my grief is like wearing blinders. I want to sing those words with confidence and integrity. But the lyrics seems confusing and insane from where I sit now. Help me to see your grace, love, and kindness, Lord.

When I sat down, after trying to sing that song, I realized I do see God’s grace in countless ways. And I do feel His love, it is real. And His kindness, well it too, is evident everywhere, when I truly look for it. But that is not all You have shown me, Lord. There is heartache, tragedy, anguish, desolation everywhere. Those lyrics seem false when I think of them in light of my life here. They seem untrue precisely, because I am viewing them from an earthly, physical, here-and-now perspective.

I am beginning to see they are only true in the eternal. In the Kingdom to come “all you have shown me is grace, love, and kindness.” Because of your Son, Lord, all I will know for eternity is “grace, love, and kindness.” Thinking on these truths in light of the eternal, they make sense to me and stop screaming insanity.  Spiritual sanity comes when I see all of life, death, and God’s promises with an eternal perspective. If I try to view many of God’s promises with a temporal view, they will seem skewed.  But if I look at them with an eternal viewpoint they bring comfort, rejoicing, and gratefulness!

Yes, Lord, I can see your grace, love, and kindness…

Psalm 23:4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Walk. That is very telling as a move through my grief.  The pain is unbearable at times. I want to sprint through it, run as fast as I can to get to the other side of grief, where I can breathe again.  But the Lord says, no. I must not. I must ‘walk’ thru this valley of the shadow of death.  There is a purpose for my soul as I walk, step by step, thru this valley of grief.  Walking insures I won’t lose my footing, I won’t stumble and fall, I won’t grow weary and lose strength before making it thru to the other side. I want to run, but I must walk, step by step by step.  And Lord, as your word says, you are with me, every step of the way.

He will never have a prestigious career. He will never fulfill his vision to improve city structure for 3rd world countries. He will never fall in love nor explore any more far away places. He will never get married nor have children of his own. I weep out loud as my mind is flooded with all of the “he will never’s”. They rush in as fast as my mind can process them.

But then, it’s almost as if Grant breaks into my thought. It’s as if I can hear him. “Don’t be sad for me, mom. I’m the lucky one! You have said to me 100 times ‘to die is gain’ and mom, it’s true! The things you’re thinking about are things that this world has to offer. And they are great, some of Earth’s greatest gifts. But they don’t compare to Heaven’s gifts. They don’t compare to what I have here, what Heaven offers. No, mom, don’t feel sorry for me. You were right, to die truly is gain. I am the lucky one.”

All I know is life here on earth. I am familiar with it’s treasures and the high lights it offers. But if I could just get a glimpse of my eternal home, my Heavenly home, I would see that things here, life here, pales in comparison! I have to look beyond this life, and all that it offers, to the life beyond. It is so hard, when missing Grant, to see death as a gain and not a loss. Because for us, there is a loss, a great loss, a loss almost unbearable.

But for Grant, because he died in Christ, death was not his enemy. And I must come to view death as God views it and not as the world. How does God view death? “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His godly ones” (Ps. 116:15). The world may view death as a terrible enemy, but God views death as a precious thing for those who are righteous.The only way we can view death as God views it, is through Jesus. For the Christian, death is gain not loss, because through the blood of Christ we are made righteous, free from sin (Ac. 2:38; 22:16).Death has no sting for the child of God, for it is simply the ticket home. It is the means to great gain beyond this realm. All of the saints whose bodies were once subject to disease and disappointments, burdened with pain, trials, and hardships, will be given a glorified body that only heaven can give. For in that day we will be made like Jesus!

Grant’s end, was really his beginning. The beginning of all things new, and glorious, and far beyond anything we have here to compare! Co-mingled with the heavy grief I feel this morning, is an element of comfort, knowing that Grant wouldn’t come back even if given the chance.

 “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain…having the desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is very much better” (Philip. 1:21-23).

On the way to Grant’s Memorial Service, God brought peace in the strangest way. We all sat in complete silence, wondering how we were going to make it thru this day. We sat waiting for a red light to turn green, when a motorcyclist pulled up next to us in the right lane.  It took our breath away. But before any of us could say a word, a dump truck pulled up right next to us on the other side. There we were flanked on either side with a motorcycle and its rider on one side and a looming gigantic dump truck on the other.

 We have never seen a dump truck on that main road before. And I highly doubt we ever will again. There was zero doubt in the mind of everyone in that car, that what we were seeing was a sign from The Lord. God was with us, helping us, sustaining us. God was with Grant, now, and on that fateful Saturday afternoon, when his motorcycle collided with a dump truck. God will never leave nor forsake any of us. We will never have satisfactory answers, this side of Heaven, to all of  our “why” questions. But that does not mean, will never mean, that God has abandoned us, or left us alone in our suffering.

 No, he is flanking us, on either side, holding us up, helping us thru, guiding our path to intersect with His providential plan for all of our lives. We all looked to the right, then to the left, and knew immediately, what the enemy meant for evil that morning (and on the day of Grant’s accident) the Lord meant for good. God brought peace that morning, on the way to the service, where Satan meant to destroy our faith. It was Satan’s attempt to inflict pain and cause us to turn away from God with resentment. But God used it as a picture of His flanking us where ever we are, what ever we’re walking thru, and caused us to turn towards Him in utter dependence. God will bring peaceable fruit out of this tragedy. God will cause all things to work together for good. God is to the right of us and to the left of us, flanking us; satan will not destroy.

The risen Jesus said to Thomas, “Put your hands into my wounds, and you will know who I am.” His wounds were part of him now, part of his history. His wounds now a part of His identity.

I feel that way. I feel as if my wounds are visible, tangible, palpable. But I see something else in this passage. Thomas was talking to a risen Christ. He had conquered the grave, conquered death.

To believe in Christ’s death and resurrection is also to believe that I can rise up now from my dark grave of this suffering love. Suffering love should increase my sympathy for the world’s wounds, enlarge my anguish for the lost. Suffering love should expand my love for those around me, and those I come in contact with. Suffering love should increase my gratefulness for the good I see and the ability to see it. Suffering love should deepen my insight and strengthen my commitment to what is truly important. Suffering love should increase my anticipation for a New Heaven and a New Earth, where all things are new, and set right, and as they should be, for eternity.

If suffering love dampens my passion, diminishes my faith, weakens my hope; if nothing good comes from Grant’s death, then death has won. The grave will have had victory.

So I will struggle to live with the reality of both Christ’s death and resurrection, and the ramifications that should have on the life I have left here. I will fight to live the kind of life Christ’s resurrection won for me. In my living this kind of life, Grant’s dying will not be the last word. But as I rise up, I am freshly aware today that I bear the wounds of his death. My rising, my living, does not remove them, never will. They mark me now, they are a part of my history, my identity. If you want to know who I am, “put your hand in.”