Bereavement and Death

Such grief. I'm not going to regard any particulars at this juncture, or at least don't intend to do so.

Today, Ravi has gone home, though. That is one matter. There's something of separation which is indeed so painful. Bereavement, further.

Something very dear, now intangible and beyond interaction. No longer to share in the delight of distinct individual intellect and quirks. No longer to delight in the joy of another's presence, dearly cherished. Nor bear the weight of how magnanimous the Lord's gifts, through the blessed, loving regard of one's beloved companion. The wit, the insights, the wonder of watching hope light the eyes and joy a spark of laughter, shared. Even of griefs shared, no longer to endure alongside. Rather, an empty space where once there was warmth and empathy and thoughtful comment.

The loss of a loved one is devastating. There's a yearning which can never more be sated, by the desire simply to hear unreckoned speech once more, or unanticipated laughter. Never more to call and experience the quickening of contentment to be gladly received and warmly embraced even in speech. No more tomorrows on this earth, together. No more dreams dreamt together, here and now.

Never again on this earth. Only memories. Even if videos--with speech and the wonder of seeing the smile and hearing the voice of one beloved--then still without the warmth of touch and presence. Bereft.

I'm currently confronted with so many things which I just can't do. And especially increasingly faced with the reality that I have serious need for greater involvement with others, for structure and oversight and the exercise of God-ordained discipline. All of which...still scares me, to be honest. But not as it did. I am afraid of abuse. I am afraid of being maliciously oppressed and wounded while in a state of especial weakness. This is what I've known, again and again. So, I've run and hid, in fear.

And in so doing, there's also been quite a dire turning against others, in my own heart. I will submit to those whom the Lord would have me submit to, but not otherwise. There've been far more vicious and insidious and ruthless and outright hateful encounters, lingering and extended over years with intermittent, varying degrees and sporadic intervals of horror. I have tried to die so many times, too, in the wake of so many griefs and of so much despair and such pain and seeming absolute desolation...and yet, God has not permitted death. He has not allowed hope to ever die, in me. He has not allowed my spirit to be utterly crushed, at any instance--no matter that at times, I've been so utterly overwhelmed and completely devastated that I have not had strength to focus will unto be able to regard thought, but to merely breathe until the pain ebbs enough to once more yield room to cry out in wailing despair of all. And yet, not wholly crushed. Though I had wanted it so, so many times.

I hated hope, for so long. To hope was torment. Hope that there would someday be relief, that there would some day be love, that there would some day be comfort, and solidarity, and all so many things else which I likewise didn't have enough knowledge of as unto words so to even voice the yearning for these things...but just a yearning and an undying hope which wouldn't relent, no matter how utterly desolate circumstances ever seemed. I remember particular after a suicide attempt, post-Katrina, coming back around slightly to the point of regaining ability to reflect once more...and being utterly stricken to realize that still, in my heart, was that same yearning which bespoke possibility of such things as were wholly impossible. And I despaired, then. All the more, despaired in the midst of having once more found even death's assumed relief kept far from me...and as I was regaining ability to think, once more, as the weight of grief and despair ebbed off along course of being humbled to recognize my efforts thwarted, too...

...how much more did the weight of irony press in upon me, that even in the midst of having been unable to connect with others to seek or receive help...then, still, those surrounding me and attempting to help me were unaware of the steps I'd taken. And I didn't tell them. I didn't tell any of them. And if they knew, they never told me, either. How ironic, the day after the suicide attempt, I was taken by these same friends to a mental health clinic...and I couldn't much speak, could barely walk...but the doctor gave me a full week's worth of sleeping pills. Just handed them to me, to take home. It was so reminiscent of finding the razor blade still in my wallet upon admission to the hospital, post-attempt, years prior. I'd already tried and failed. And yet was immediately thereafter handed what otherwise would have seemed means to attempt again, though as a medical courtesy.

I didn't. I don't remember much of what did happen. Things were so...closed in. Oppressive. And yet..that yearning, unto hope...tormented me. Unto greater despair, it seemed.

I'm just reminded of that feeling, in the wake of so much bereavement. It's not dissimilar, in ways...

But there's a difference. We don't grieve as those without hope. And even as I'd once grieved while despising the hope within me which I didn't understand, that hope has now has found meaning, rest, and purpose in recognition of Christ's grace toward me...and of the eternal life I have in Him...so too, as we grieve the losses of beloved others--via whatever course, whatever end on this earth--we do so as ones who know rest in God, having found mercy and reconciliation with Him.

And we grieve as those who have hope to stand beside our beloved ones in the heavenlies, hereafter. For we know that Christ is the resurrection and the life, and He has promised to return to for us all. And we will all meet again, eternally to worship Him.

That doesn't take away all the weight of grief, no. There's still sorrow. There's still keen absence, an unyielding ache.

But there's hope. True hope. Knowing that though this life will ever remain bereft of that one most dearly loved, evermore torn asunder...the hereafter won't be so. And if we were in Christ, together, then we will be together in Christ forever. Blessedly whole communion, unmarred by the stain of sin, then.

Makes me yearn for eternity, now. Which is too heavy, and means that too much of what's been revisited and lingered in still requires being brought into subjection to the truth of Christ.

He is that and Him in Whom we live and move and have our being. He did sorrow while He was here. He was rejected, and we counted Him afflicted by God due to the rejection He endured and the sufferings. Yet He is our God. And He endured all these so that by His patient obedience even unto death, death on the cross...His righteousness, perfect, could be accounted to us. Even as He endured the wrath we are due. That we could receive mercy, through Him.

Jesus has been so merciful to me. So many times, I've despaired of life and it's been a matter of pride and self-exaltation--I didn't not want to submit to God, I wanted to rule my own course and determine my own morality, rather than submitting to the reality of created order and design. So, wrapped up in all the grief and fear and pain was the reality that I was exalting my own understanding in direct defiance of God's wisdom and sovereignty over me.

He was merciful, is all. I deserved to enter His eternal wrath, the many times I courted death and sought it and accidentally entered it. I deserved death, hell, and eternal punishment. That was my due.  I had earned it, I still deserve it...the only difference now is that I have come to terms with the reality that I have sinned against a holy, just, righteous, perfect God and I am grieved to have wronged Him. I have humbled myself, by grace, to recognize that I want and need and am designed for submitting to His will and His ways, and I loathe that I ever acted against Him--because He's good, He's worthy of all obedience, and so it's a terrible thing, a horrific course I was on, acting in defiance of Him. I see my wretchedness made apparent in the light of the wonder of His majesty, awesome fearfulness, and glory...and I want nothing more to do with sin, but only to serve Him better.

And so I have turned from the course I was on, by His grace manifest unto me in Christ. And by the grace extended to me in Christ, I have faith in Jesus Christ's full atonement and propitiation and satisfaction of my sin debts--all the wrath due me, the spiritual death I deserve, and the infinite punishment I also deserve, and the shamefulness of all my defiance...all, Jesus took upon Himself and satisfied for me. And I know Him and I completely trust Him for these things.

So that, looking back on those times before...when hope had no rightful home, as I was living in defiance and despising God...I see the mercy God extended to me, even as not allowing me to end my life while I lived in darkness. I was rightfully under His wrath, then, and would have entered eternal wrath. I deserved it (again, I still do...except that Christ has paid my debts and satisfied the wrath and I have asked God's forgiveness, pleaded His mercy, and trust Jesus's all-sufficient grace).

To enter death apart from having repented from sin, apart from having humbled oneself to the reality of God's righteous wrath against us as sinners...seeking His forgiveness, turning from defiance to submit to Him and worship Him in all of life as is our due course...turning to Him through the Son of God, Jesus Christ, and seeking mercy in Him...trusting wholly in Him alone, by faith...

...to enter death apart from resting fully in Christ's redemption is not something to take lightly. And yet we know that God will be glorified in the eternal punishment of those who are under wrath even as He will be glorified in the eternal redemption of those saved by grace through faith. He will be glorified.