harps//strings

I have spent so much time with it and still do. His visits have become less and less frequent but He always comes in different ways, doesn’t He? But His others are still foreign to me. Known by infinite names and ever so vast and spectacular. This will be my final thoughts on this facet of Him. Only one of many I have explored and made friends with. The only one I have intimately spent time with.

I get the feeling He would like me to make friends with the rest of Him now. I think this specific side of Him would not have it any other way.

So, what is grief?

I think it is the tugging question that haunts us at night and the hum in our ears during the day. It is the song sung by generations past and it is the present mystery of loss and death. It is the whispering dream of the future hope and it is the chorus and psalm of eternity.

It is the tension. The cautious optimism and crippling fears.

Grief is what has moved us to tears and it is what brings us into celebration. It is what has moved us along the desert and led us through the wilderness. It is what brings us out. Inch by inch and step by step, it is the rattling of bones in the ground, long dormant and sleeping.

It is the falling sparrow and it is its counting.

It is the violently gentle urging of God that does not want us to stay where we are and it is the fire in fear. It is the anger in unjust brokenness and the iron in our blood. A declaration of war to stop all wars. The valor and courage in judgment and anxiety. It is deliverance from our hurt and it is the process of a promise. It is the journey to see a high peak and it is the act of drowning deep. An ascent and a baptism. A restless receiving and a shuttering of graves. Of bodies awaiting the breath of life. And a raising of the dead.

It is the letting go and the hanging on. The anchor to the ground, heavy and sunk. The sleeping and the waking of our souls. The fight and the victory of the mystery. It is the peace and the war of the beyond. The freedom and the enslavement of hearts. The mountains and the valleys. Death and resurrection. The turning away and the turning toward. It is both a whisper and a roar. Egypt and the Promised Land. The flood and the boat. The crippling and the blessing. The wrestling and the name. The word in the sand.

It grieves with us. It sheds tears with us and wipes them away with us. It is a loving pursuit and compassionate boundaries. It forgives and hates, and it is overwhelming. It is a song of meekness and confusion. Exhaustion and rest. A lifting of our voices when we have nothing left. Praise in our crumbling. Life and tomb. Birth and womb. It is the safe space in the midst of offense. It is the grace and rebuke of broken hearts. It is strength in weakness and faith in unbelief. Acceptance in the face of insecurity and glory in the face of insignificance.

It is the carrying and the walking. The standing and the kneeling. A prayer and a demand. A fist and open hands. A touch of a robe and a touch of a scar. It is getting out of bed in our depression. It is the mundane routine of our sadness. And it is the courage to keep going.

It is the endless hours and dollars spent on therapy. It is the pursuit of well-being and being well. And it is the pursuit of others who want to be. It is the relationship in the unseen and the covenants kept close. It is the vow and the marriage. The mourning and the remembering.

It is the sick and the healed. The homeless and the homes. The orphan and the family. The grafting and the planting. It is the watering in the drought and the small cloud in the distance. It is the absurdity of life through death. Of salvation through a man. Of grace in the midst of broken people. And redemption in the midst of broken dreams. It is a redefining of definitions and it is a naming of things in the mystery. It is guilt found in an innocent man and innocence found in a guilty world.

It is love emerging from a hurting son. It is praise lifting from a mourning father. And it is a man trying again.

All those days that have been counted and examined. Written about and broken down to its very fibers. All the things we held onto in search of healing. All the things that we thought would bring rest. At the very end, it was only the beginning. It was only the reconciliation. We walk now knowing more of cost and sacrifice, more than a lifetime would bear. We walk and we will continue to walk.

What is grief? It is an irony.