April 20, 2020
A.W. Tower said, “The Bible was written in tears, and to tears it yields its best treasures.” It is because of my place of grief that God’s word is so rich to me, and His promises so real. I’m so thankful for God’s word, and for the tears that wash my soul and bring my broken heart into His presence.
Standing in the ocean. Always. That is what, for me, this journey is like. The waves of grief sometimes gently buffet me, or perhaps I’m standing in the shallows, the water gently pulsing around me, but it has no power over me…I can feel the sand and pebbles breath my feet, reminding me where I am, reminding me of the vastness and the power of this ocean, yet grounding me to this earthen pilgrimage. My eyes may tear up at a sweet memory, but I can control these and usually quickly turn them off.
As I journey through this ocean of grief, I sometimes find myself caught in a rip tide. The bitter, dark waters grab m with their sucking tentacles, trying to leave me in a swirling tempest of depression…unexpected, knocking me off my feet, drawing me under…and I struggle to catch my breath, to break free and grab the hand that God is reaching out to me. I think these are the worst because they catch me off guard, they are startling in their power – seeing something Ashley made or wrote, being at the hospital and having a memory flood my mind, seeing something or hearing something that reminds me of Ashley. The onrush of tears begins and it is often difficult to break this cycle.
Then, there are the huge waves that knock me down. These…well, these I see coming. These waves are days that mark something…Easter, Ashley’s death date, her birthday. I know these are going to be difficult days, and the days leading up to them will be challenging. It doesn’t make it any easier to face these days, but they also don’t catch me off guard. Having only faced Easter, I find that the grief is still more, much more than I anticipated. But I have a Savior who still grieves with me, who holds me in the remembered and relived trauma, and a husband and son who grieve with me.
When I was a young girl, we moved to Minnesota for a very short time. We lived on a hill, with beautiful trees all around us, and a large pond at the edge of our property. I was fascinated by the life teeming in the water and on the shoreline. Up to that time in my life, I had never experienced God’s nature as I did during those nine months. As the pond froze, I remember Mom warning me not to get on the ice. But it was so very tempting…This Texas girl had never experienced anything so fascinating, and the anticipation of this unknown, magical world pulled at me. So, one fine day after school, I cautiously ventured out onto the ice, wearing my beautiful pink dress. I stepped ever so cautiously, thinking I was ever so graceful…but it didn’t matter…for the ice was not ready for the steps of a young girl. Though the ice was fairly strong at the shore, as I ventured further out, unable to see below the surface, the cold winter had not yet had time to freeze a thick layer in the deep darkness of the pond. And with a sickening crack, I crashed through the ice and into the water. Thankfully, it was only about 3-4 feet deep, and I was able to get out, with only a few tears, and a very cold lesson learned! The great lesson (and there are several!): For me, it is about the inky blackness of the water; no matter that I thought the ice thick enough to support me, I could not see underneath to know the thickness of the ice, nor the depth of the water. Likewise, I cannot expect others to know the depth of my grief, and the murky waters that float just beneath the surface, the ice-cold water that I can find myself in. Had I been further out, there would have been no one to save me the day I broke through the ice. Now…there is God. Hen that ice that has formed around my heart breaks, and I find myself once again falling through the shadowy depths, He is there…He is here! Here to grab my hand, to pull me out of the muck and mire, to warm me up, to wrap me in a towel and hold me close, to tell me that my grief is seen.
Isaiah 25:8 promises me that one day death will be swallowed up forever, and that God will wipe away my tears. Because of Christ’s death for me, death is already defeated, and I base my life on that promise. My tears? For now, God promises me that He collects them in a bottle, and has written down each one (Psalm 56:8). He knows the unending reservoir of grief that flows from my eyes. He doesn’t ignore them or pretend that they will magically stop. He collets them. He counts them. And He brings me peace in the midst of those tears. I have cried almost every day since Ashley passed. As April 21st nears, I find they are again more frequent and if you’ve ben with me in one of those times, I’m sorry. Thank you for continuing to love me, for continuing to let me cry, for continuing to let me talk about my beloved Ashley, for letting me just…be, with no guilt for my grief, and no push to stop my tears. I know it is uncomfortable, and it is that for which I’m sorry. I love each of you (mostly Bill and my NICU nurses/friends are the ones who are with me in these moments, and there are just too many to name…but know that I love you for allowing me this gift!)
So, this is my ocean. My words are not meant to make you feel pity for me. Writing helps me as I deal with this grief journey. It is the reality of where I am as I come to the one year mark. If you see me, know that I never know where I will be standing in this ocean, and while I would never wish to make you uncomfortable, the tears do still flow. Thank you for loving me through the pain. Oh how my heart has been wounded. But it is His wounds, His stripes, His love that bring healing to me, to this broken heart. I long for the day I will b reunited with Ashley, my Savior’s embrace forever removing this ocean of grief, my tears wiped away, death defeated.
