He is so gracious. There's still the option to be completely overwhelmed by pain, again, rather than remaining focused on the Lord, on who He is, on His presence. That's totally an option. And the temptation to turn to bitterness, to pity, to so many things likewise...is ongoing. Even temptation to turn away from Him, in the midst of this. But no. There is no other help. There is no other hope except Jesus. He alone can help. He alone does.
Time doesn't heal. It alters. It allows for a sort of veil to fall over the depths of grief, overwhelmed by further and other events. But Christ, alone, heals. He's let me see the truth of this very clearly, as He's been walking me into and through the beginnings of healing wounds from my childhood and adolescence and now, into adulthood, these past many months. With fresh, still, to bear.
He's been helping me through remembrance, in so many ways, bringing so many pains into subjection to truth. And just reminding of His faithfulness in some of the more recent.
When Granny died, the only way to manage to keep going was turning to Scripture. I don't remember a lot about that period of time, December before last--there was so much going on. I was in a state of weird shock, along much of the while--almost compartmentalized, just to continue to function. So grateful for it, though. Grateful for it now, too.
Grandad had as well as died the week before Granny did, but the Lord preserved his life. The doctors already had resigned themselves and the family to his death, switching to palliative care after his "seizure," after the emergency dialysis, after his kidneys had completely shut down, after he'd become so dehydrated only answer to prayer afforded a means of getting an IV. Of the lattermost, the emergency room tech was incredulous that a vein just "appeared," after already having given notice that it wasn't possible to run an IV because of the extent of dehydration and because he'd been unsuccessfully trying to run an IV. Dude was in a daze, after that last try, because the vessel sufficient to run IV "wasn't there a moment ago," it "just wasn't there." It "just appeared." He couldn't understand.
The Lord did what He said He would. He restored 30% kidney function. Which the Humana nurse handling Grandad's case was incredulous regarding--she told my stepmom she'd never before seen someone with end stage kidney disease experience restored kidney function, sporadically. Had never seen improvement like that--to go from total kidney failure to 30% function? The Lord said He would do it, though, and it had initially arisen to ask why "only 30%"--but before fully formed, too stricken with awe-filled terror of Whom was being questioned to do anything other than be grateful, head bowed.
A week in the hospital, in and out of consciousness, though. He was delirious for...I don't recall how long. And the hospital was short staffed. The Lord ordained an opportunity to assist him. Which included remaining sufficiently awake 24 hours a day over that interminable while as to prevent him ripping out the varied bits which where medically present.
Sermons all day, every day. All week. Just to function.
The Lord made way for me to attend church that week, so traumatized I fell to pieces in the bathroom at one point, when asked how I was.
Death wish spoken over me by one of the pastors at what was assumed Grandad's deathbed was all part of the madness. Sneering, scowling, and a couple refusing to so much as acknowledge my presence, included.
And the moment Grandad became stable, he turned on the television. And I had to leave. I couldn't endure the barrage of assaults come that way. Utter wreck, immediately. I had to leave. So many weird things are all present in and of television shows. And maybe some folks really are just strong enough in the Lord to not be impacted, but I'm not. And I wasn't, prior to coming to Christ, either.
Granny became all the worse, that next week.
But we finished all but the gospel of John, together. Her only indication of awareness of presence was that she silently cried when spoken to of Jesus's love for her. And they'd stopped attempting to give food or drink during the week prior: She was unconscious, for all external appearances, that last week and some. Or however long.
But she had ultimately refused to drink, when prompted. At least, she did so once the nurses cautioned she'd likely aspirate. I don't remember which all were the infections at the last, consuming her. Maybe pneumonia with e.coli. And MRSA. MRSA was recurrent.
The Lord gave me strength and prompted me to turn to that final gospel, after the funeral. I don't remember reading, but I remember clinging to the words, clinging to the Bible. I don't remember much, that period. But I remember that first turning toward His Word, to His voice, to Him as so captured to be held and cherished.
So there was Job, Sunday and Monday. And the Gospels, these past few days. So grateful for bluetooth.
And so grateful He has been prompting other saints to reach out, intermittently. Even so much as to afford an hour of prayer, just now.
I couldn't make it to Bible study, yesterday. I made it into the house, made it as far as responding to "how I was doing" by confessing why. And almost made it to the room for the study before falling apart. Couldn't. I am concerned about next week, but will trust the Lord.
I can't do anything but cast myself on His mercy, for Sunday. I can't. I just can't. I want to just run away. I want to just disappear. I want to just leave everything and everyone, as not to be confronted with the pain more fully again. But maybe...maybe shock will settle in more fully, again. Or maybe He'll somehow otherwise encourage me.
Or maybe He will lead me to some other place. Somewhere else to go, to be anonymous and unknown, to remain aloof. If I have it my way, that's what I'll do. I'm afraid to be alone again, but I'm afraid of what's going to happen. I'm afraid of being overwhelmed and sobbing. And I'm afraid of not being able to run. And I'm just afraid. Because I'm overwhelmed at the worst moments, and it's such a struggle to remain in control. But I'm not in control. The Lord is. And I keep forgetting that, in the midst of this.
So I'll do what is set in front of me. And I'll trust Him for the strength to do whatever comes next. And I am truly hoping I don't fall apart again in public. I'm not nearly as humiliated after the fact as I used to be--used to utterly be consumed by shame, afterwards. But whatever. If I don't go this week, I'll be very likely to just not go back. Each time not going will make it more difficult to return. But, for that matter, I don't know if I'll even be alive in a couple days' time. Saying something to the effect of thinking it seems likely, given what all has led up to this point of life is utterly false logic. The things which have come before don't necessarily indicate anything regarding what's to come.
I fell prey to holding onto that ideology again, as unto this grief. Nothing is finished or begun lest the Lord have it be so. So it doesn't matter what "seems to be the case," except for it's how things ultimately end. Ultimately, even. Just looking around it the world makes it "seem to be the case" that the wicked prosper and flourish and have no care nor concern of judgment. But we know that's not true. Because God is sovereign and He promises justice. Even as He's made a way through justice--meting punishment due all of us upon Christ, His son--that we who come to Him and repent and receive forgiveness can receive mercy.
But it sure doesn't look like there's a day of judgment ahead, given the way most of us live. And it sure doesn't appear as though most of us who are His believe we need to ask Him for guidance, so long as "we can figure it out" by piecing together bits of Scripture.
There's temptation walked here, same as ever of grief, as toward pity and bitterness. Such a fine line to tread, surrendered. And I don't want to be controlled by either. Nor by the pain. Nor by the temptation to seek solace in external appearance of security, in external comforts, in tangible reassurances. Not by the temptation to do what I think I need to do to be well.
To endure grief and yet not be overwhelmed by these temptations? I haven't the strength nor the ability to manage to endure. But Christ is all my sufficiency. And He keeps pulling me back to Himself, despite me.
There are some things that have come up which warrant consideration, though, in light of truth and grief and God's own nature.
People keep trying to console with words about how someday, there'll be someone--someday things will be better, if I just keep going, just "keep being true," or however. That's placation, but it's not a comfort: "Somewhere, someday, somehow, someone"--these are all empty notions that attempt to distract, moreover implying that if I do something, something else will occur. Even if just: "If you continue living and breathing, someday someone will love you and marry you"--that's still at heart an "if, then" ideology. If I remain alive, I'll get married. If I continue to breathe, the pain will pass.
We don't know what's to come, though. Period.
And we can't barter with God in attempt to effect particular outcomes. "Being good" won't warrant particular blessings. I can't trade in merit badges like some sort of sticker-redemption program where "10 merits entitles you to your choice between a vacation in Hawaii, learning a second language, or becoming a drifter in Europe." Doesn't work that way. Period. And attempts to look at Scripture as a means of earning His favor as unto a particular realm of earthly security and wealth and health is very scary territory. He searches hearts, He knows thoughts, and He is the one who reveals these things to us, though as through Scripture. And we don't drum it up. Like as with Job--He promises nothing of what's to come, regarding particulars. He would still be every bit as good as He was during Job's trial and eternally if He'd not opted to restore Job's material prosperity. That He did so was a kindness, a mercy upon Job. It wasn't merited according to Job's righteousness, same as the trial wasn't merited by his unrighteousness nor his righteousness, ultimately. But according to God's wisdom, and of an eternal kindness to us all.
All He promises is of who He is and of what His will is, ultimately. We can rest assured in and of His love and rest assured in knowing His will is good. But we can't rest assured in any particular thing occurring, as specific outworking. Even being assured we will have what we need, because He cares for us and knows our needs--still, we are given to know that as Jesus lived and as Paul openly attested and as all the apostles' lives attested, His provision for our needs isn't in keeping with the worldly ideal of "being kept."
The Author of our Salvation, our Eternal King, our Intercessor and Shepherd--Jesus, Himself, was effectively homeless, the last years of His life. Without home, effectively without family, and it could be argued without friends, in a sense--all those who were nearest Him were learning from Him, discipling under Him, and they got to the point where even they were afraid to just ask Him questions and ask Him to clarify the things they didn't understand. How's that of friendship? Though He did count them as friends, nonetheless, at the end. Although every one of them immediately thereafter deserted Him in His hour of greatest trial. But have you ever wondered where His friends were, from before? Where was the best friend who had been His companion since adolescence or into young adulthood, whom He was led to name as a disciple? I see no record of such a one. He walked with the Father.
So, attempting to console by speaking of what God will do for those whom He loves, materially and physically and tangibly...actually misrepresents God. He can't be bought or strong-armed. But He is good, and is wise. And He is righteous.
Further, of comforts--neither is it a comfort to be told I'm not the only one who has endured this particular, per this particular. Being told I'm someone in a class of people who have endured particular suffering doesn't give me strength in solidarity, as perhaps is what's being attempted. Rather, it esteems the one so-saying by further separating them as unrelated, unconcerned, uninvolved. A bystander, noting effects.
Others have suffered. Others suffer still, and far worse than me. But I can't speak for anyone else and no one else can speak for me. God knows, He is intimately aware. Of all the details. And He is not uninvolved. He is intimately concerned, wholly present. He knows everyone's grief intimately. And is present. He doesn't seek to separate Himself from His creation. He's made a way for reconciliation, rather. And a way for enduring, in the midst. He is that way. He is that hope. And is to be praised all the while, then, as any solace is from Him and of Him...and knowing He's perfect in wisdom, all the while.
Further, though it's utterly bereft of comfort to have the legitimacy of my grief called into question by flagrant denial of past events. This is the most hurtful, the most damaging of all "consolation." Not only does it undermine and despise current grief, but that tack effectively calls my entire experience into question by both derogating and mocking every bit. The worst part of plausible deniability is that it places the one who calls it into bear in a position of power which both undermines and attacks the one otherwise seeking acknowledgment of the truth, even as just to make evident the legitimacy of suffering.
In sum, I don't know what the Lord will give me, ever. None of us do. But we can know Him. And knowing I'm not the only one to endure suffering doesn't alleviate the solitude and pain of grief, either. But all the more is grief undermined and attacked, when being mocked per being denied the validity of comprehensive remembrances strongly held in recollection--even the tangible bits being denied.
These all hurt more, is the thing, despite that the overarching effect sought claimed is to comfort--each actually attempts to diminish grief by undermining its legitimacy, to further and further degrees. All effectively undermine the validity and the appropriateness and the legitimacy of grief, in the midst of suffering. One by trying to distract by calling it a matter of perspective, another by saying it's a matter of needing further effort unto different effects, and the last by denying the legitimacy of grief outright and calling the person into question as a liar or a fool. And I couldn't articulate that until this evening and until just now, even. But such attempts to comfort are no comfort, but further harm.
And yet we all tend to resort to these sorts of comfort.
It's worth nothing, further, that neither does it comfort to speak on how justifiable it is that we suffer, in terms of having erred against a perfect God. It's true that we are worthy of enduring all manner of suffering, justly. But that reminder provide any solace for grief in suffering, doesn't assist with drawing someone to seek God rather than lament as overwhelmed by pain and torments.
But God, Himself, can make the grief and suffering pall, per His presence. God, alone, can put lamentation to rest. In the midst of suffering, in the midst of grief, He alone can--by His presence and the truth of who He is, set to rest the heart that is utterly devastated and bereft. Being stricken further by remembrance of Him.
So I turn to Him. I need Him. If I don't turn to Him, my heart quickly begins to sour and I quickly begin to fall prey to varied thoughts toward pity, bitterness, the "need to protect myself," the "need to do things," and so much else (some of which may be added later, if and as it is brought to mind). Though I may yet weep in the midst of receiving comforts, no matter the sort or ilk...if arisen out of compassion, come from love, itself...that does so much to sooth. So much to afford solace unto healing.
Which is in seemingly short supply, these days, but for grace.
But His voice alone can set grief sufficiently at rest, in the midst of suffering, as to allow for proper functioning in the midst of what otherwise paralyzes. Testifying of His goodness, worshipping Him does as much, too--proclaiming His goodness, His faithfulness, proclaiming the truth of who He is. Remembering Him helps.
But nothing helps quite so much as to hear Him. So when I struggle to do so, to read His Word...I am grateful He turns me back to Himself again and again. Through others who know Him and speak of Him boldly, lovingly testifying of His faithfulness to them and of His love and giving opportunity to likewise respond, prompted by remembrance of all the things He's done and all the kindness He's lavished on me. And through His Word. Either way, hearing Him.
...and any prayers would be appreciated. There is still a thing I need to write which requires clarion remembrance of the past year and some, which means looking full on the pain and what's denied, without wavering. I trust the Lord will give me strength to do so. I know He will. I have been praying that He will do so, for the past few days, increasingly convinced of the need to not forsake memory for the sake of attempting to run from grief. Especially not to allow it become clouded or distorted, despite being publicly denied so recently.
I will not succumb on that front, because Christ is my keeper and He will do as is necessary. I was willing and am willing to do whatsoever He wills, and if to help some whom He has allowed me to love, then I'm all the more grateful. Even if He chooses not to use my testimony, then still.
I trust Him to help with this. Prayers, yes.
I had been asking Him to help me understand the arguments between Job and his friends. He'd let me see, last summer, that there were such intricate bits of logic wound up in the all as make for mind-boggling fine points to ponder. And still, so much more. I was just so amazed. All the more so, now. Couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around how delicately the arguments truly wind themselves. And all the more, and further than even this brief insight allotted.
Someone once told me that I was never going to be able to figure all the world out by just postulating, that I had to go out and get experience in order to truly understand. I didn't like that answer. I didn't like it at all. I was perfectly fine with sitting on the far side of a computer, bouncing ideas and philosophies off minds of interminable age (for reasons of varied and unmentionable account, thus). Being prompted to go out into the world, though. That was shortly before moving to New Orleans. And before more of the "training" that was required prior to be permitted to move. I had to know how to defend myself before being allowed to move there.
Now, though, the Lord is my defense. He bids me follow Him and allow Him purview. And if He has chosen to allow me to be overcome and overwhelmed, then it's to a good cause. I trust Him. And I will trust the Lord. No matter what comes or goes.
He will keep me. No one else can. But He is faithful.
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