Saturday, December 22, 2018

Fighting Your Way Back Up~

"That's why I hate living
in this world sometimes!"

The words tumbled out,
wrapped around the tears
gushing from my heart.

We stood at the front door,
my husband and I.
There,
on the front porch,
a baby hummingbird,
lying on its back,
lifeless.

We had heard it hit;
the sound of the impact
propelling us to the door.

There,
on the welcome mat,
yet another
vivid, unwanted, unwelcome,
reminder of sin.

It had been a week
chock-full of reminders.

Funerals.
Diagnoses.
Prayer requests.
Broken hearts.

And now, this.

I had had enough.

Enough of dying.
Enough of crying.
Enough of this world.

"It's just part of living in this world, Beautiful.
You can't let it get to you like this."

Get to me?
It had already got me.
Hook, line and sinker.

And sink, I did.

Down,

down,

down,
landing heart first
in a spiritual funk.

Have you ever been there?

Surrounded by one heartache
after another,
it becomes
difficult to see The One
whose heart aches
for all mankind.

Swallowed up in
tears and sorrow,
it is easy
to lose sight of The One
who swallowed up death,
the man Jesus,
the Man of Sorrows.

I struggled to find
my footing
as the quicksand of despair
kept pulling me down.

I reached for scriptures
to grab onto
in hopes of pulling myself free,
yet hopelessness
kept the hope I needed
out of my reach.

I knew I was lost,
but I couldn't find my way out.

I knew where to run,
but I couldn't find my way back home.

I knew The One I needed,
and yet,
I couldn't find God anywhere.

The rest of that day.

The next day.

The day after that.

A week and a half later.

Time marched on
leaving me stuck in my funk,
faltering in my faith,
drowning in the darkness
of an immense shadow
that hid God's face.

Until the day of yet
another funeral.

Standing in a crowded room,
I spotted her -
the great granddaughter
of the precious lady
who had died.

And, she spotted me.

Without thinking,
I started making
my way to her,
as she weaved her way
through one person after another
in her quest to reach me.

We met in the middle.

As I knelt down in front of her,
she buried her head in my neck
and we held each other -
this six year old and I,
locked in sorrow.

"I love you."

It was all I could say.

"I love you more," came her reply.

With that,
we looked at each other
and smiled.

"I don't know," I said with a grin.
"I love you more than more."

"I love you most," she said,
as she hugged me even tighter,
leaving no room for debate.

Then,
looking me in the eye,
she whispered,
"She's ok now.
She's not here,
but she's ok now,
isn't she?"

I nodded my head "yes".

And, as I did,
I felt it hit;
the impact of this truth
propelling me straight
to the door of God's heart.

Here,
among the wages
of sin
and the very sting
of death,
was a vivid, desperately needed,
more-than-welcome reminder
of the gift
of our God.

No more sickness.
No more sorrow.
No more tears.

Eternal life,
in and through,
Christ Jesus our Lord.

As I hugged this precious girl
once more,
I found my footing.

Standing to my feet,
I felt the firm foundation
of my faith
holding me up once again.

Wiping my tears,
I felt God's love
wash over me
as I saw once again
His face -
the face of grace.

Grace willing to die
that we might forever live
in His presence.

I looked heavenward
and smiled.

I had found my way
back home.




~Stacy

(Re-posting from September 2012)


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