I believe we are doing ourselves (those of us grieving) a disservice by chasing after the quick healing of such a deep wound. I also believe that it is actually a much more encouraging and peaceful practice to allow ourselves to learn ways to live in the woundedness of our souls; and in that woundedness, find strength, peace, joy, and a life of encouragement to other wounded souls around us.
I believe in healing; I've seen it happen too many times to brush it off anymore. God's healing on this earth is real, and it is powerful. But I also believe that some things will not be healed on this side of heaven. Irish poet Thomas Moore is quoted as saying, "There is no sorrow that heaven cannot heal." I love these words, and I love the truth in these words. But I feel it must be noted that this healing that heaven provides, may not come until we actually see heaven - and this isn't a bad thing. There is much good that comes from learning to live with our pain. Our joy is much richer, and our peace is much deeper in the midst of the pain.
I spent the first several years of grieving my daughter's death waiting for the healing to come. Waiting for my heart to feel whole again, waiting for the hurt to be gone. Ten years after her death, I am still waiting. But I'm waiting in a different way now. I have learned that death is not ok, and I will continue to be wounded while here on this earth. I am still waiting, but I'm not waiting for the healing to come in my lifetime. I look with great anticipation at the healing that will come when I see heaven for the first time.
I know that my current wounding is something that draws me to God each day, and something that draws others to me each day. In our wounds, we help others find some sort of healing for their own wounds. In our own vulnerability and honesty about our deep pain, we allow others to be honest and move forward in their own journey. And it is worth noting, that when Jesus comes back and makes his appearance to the disciples after his crucifixion and resurrection, he still bears the scars of his wounds. The wounds are what actually show and prove to the disciples the authenticity and reality of what God has just done. This same thing can be true for us as well. I know that my wounds, and the journey from death to life that God has led me on, show the miracles and healing God is capable of, even if I still carry some of the scars.
I have joy in my life; I have three other beautiful children with me, I have a wonderful husband and lovely friends and family all around me. There is much joy in my days. But my heart is not healed. God has been gracious through the years, and I have received much healing of my pain, but there remains a deep wound that has not completely left, and I don't suspect that it will. I still cry, I still zone out and pass through some days in a fog, I still struggle with depression and anxiety. The after-effects of the trauma of death are still there. Death was never a part of the plan, so it stands to reason that it would be a difficult thing to continue to live with. In the midst of the pain that still resides, I have learned that as deep as the pain goes, God's love, grace, joy and peace go deeper. Each time I feel the dark depths of grief around me, at some point, He makes his way into the depths with me, bringing me out.
At one point, very early on after Eveyn died, I remember sitting at my parents' house, watching Eli play, and they asked me how things were. And I just remember saying, "I just never knew I could feel this much sadness, all the time." It was the only way I knew how to feel at the time, there were no other options for emotions for me. But what I learned over time, was that as God moved me along in the journey, and as I allowed the joy back in, it was all so much richer. It is such a mysterious thing that happens - I still have grief, but now I have joy, and because of my grief, my joy is more joyful. What an amazing, mysterious gift. But if we phrase this as "your heart is healed," first of all, I wholeheartedly disagree. My heart still has much pain. Secondly, I believe it forces our hearts to "move on" in a way that is not really possible, so that when all of a sudden the grief breaks back in (which it will), we don't know what to do with it and we feel like it doesn't belong. For those experiencing grief - this is your new normal. It can be bad, and it can be good, but it cannot go away. Your tragedy has happened, it is a part of your life, now it is time to learn the best ways to live with it and in it.
My daughter's death wasn't a part of the plan, but I do believe her life and death have served a great purpose that I never imagined for my own life (something I will write about one day when I feel brave enough). But even with this "purpose," this still doesn't make death ok. It is not - but I also know that "God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Some day, death will die it's final and ultimate death. Then, and only then, will my heart be healed - and that is ok. The trick is learning how to sit in the "already-not yet" state of life. Already knowing the end, already seeing aspects of it trickle down each day in God's common grace and mercy. But waiting. Trusting. Knowing that it is coming, and living as much as I can in the joy and redemption he gives me each day.
My daily meditation is one of lament and hope, and it is the cry of my heart, until that last day.
"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
