Wrestling

Grief really does come in waves.

You can feel it building, like the ocean’s current, pulling you out. It foams and gathers strength, until it violently crashes, hard and heavy on your head. The pain leaves you breathless for a moment, and you briefly wonder if you’re going to drown. But then, as suddenly as it began, it washes back out. You sigh with relief, stand back up, and brush the tears away, ready to face another day. Yet, as steady as the tide, the pull begins again…

A few weeks ago, I sensed the pull on my spirit. However, instead of submitting this time, I struggled. The problem was, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to deal with the questions racketing against my skull, the hurt that was swelling every time I heard a newborn baby’s cry, or the panicked reaction in my heart as I tried so desperately to consign myself to this future that is so unlike what I envisioned.

And so, the wrestling begins…

I sit on my kitchen floor, dishwater mixing with my tears as I finally lift my hands both in praise and surrender to the inevitable. And I choose to fight again, for the hundredth time, to attain that joy and peace that so eludes me.

It’s times like these that I’m reminded [again] that I am no great warrior of the faith. As it turns out, I’m actually more like the Canaanite woman at Jesus’ feet, begging desperately for scraps of grace from His table. Feeling totally unworthy, but asking just the same.

I’m Leah, struggling to understand that nothing on this earth, not even another child, can give me happiness apart from Him.

I’m Peter, ever vacillating between holding fast an obstinate faith in God’s love for me and sinking into the waves of doubt.

Ultimately, I’m Jacob, a helpless sinner and prodigal son, refusing to let go until He blesses me.

As the tide of despair pulls me out, I , too, have often found my self repeating, over and over, “I will not let you go until you bless me! Make this cup pass from me, make the hurt stop, make it worth it all, make me drink every last drop if you must. But I cannot let you go until you bless me…

Because where else can I go? You alone have the words of life (John 6:67-68)”

Yet there are also times, like when this most recent wave crashed, my courage fails. The pain of death and the disappointment of myself and others feels like too much. I am tired, discouraged, and frankly; I don’t want to wrestle anymore.

But it is then that I hear him say so quietly back to me-

Child, I will not let you go until you bless Me.

Lysa Terkhurst said in one of her books, “Sometimes in order to get your life back, you have to face the death of what you thought your life would be like.” I took the advice more literally than she probably intended. One evening, I sat down on my living room floor with some scraps of paper, a pen and a candle. One by one, I began to write down my disappointments. Insignificant to utterly heartbreaking, I wrote out the demons that had been plaguing me, from the loss of convenience to the loss of my son.

After I finished, I gathered up all my “should have”s, “if only”s & “supposed to be”s – a rather innocent looking pile of scraps for the dreams they contained. Then, one by one, I burned them. Some were harder to release than others – my hand occasionally paused as I had to wrestle again to give up these ways of mine. But slowly and surely, I watched as my pile of dreams and disappointments slowly became ash.

Then, I prayed:

God, you are good. You are kind, you are loving, and you love me enough to shatter my dreams to make way for Your perfect plans for my life. I had my own plans, I had “great” ideas, but I am foolish to believe that I am the author of my life.

You were before me, You created me, and You will still be long after even my mortal body is mere ash. Every one of my days is written in your book, and you planned them with loving care. You lead me in paths of righteousness, through green pastures, beside still waters, and in the path of the very valley of death itself, You’ve never left my side. Forgive me for accusing you of negligence, harshness, or impassivity; of being unfair or cruel. Your thoughts are higher, your ways better, and it’s time for me to put my past disappointments behind me and walk forward in faith in you.

So take these ashes, and help me to lay down my heavy burden at your feet. Let me have Your own yoke to bear- one of full dependence and trust in you. For Your way is truly easier and Your burden light. Help me to see You as clearly in these heartbreaks as I do in Your mercies. And teach me to be yielded and still in the waiting.

There are probably more funerals ahead. Most likely, I will always battle with wanting to take the lead & tell God how to fix my life. But in the end, I am grateful to know the God who holds onto me through all my wrestlings. I can say confidently & despite it all, I have been blessed.

I pray you will be too.

With Love,

Kelsey