In the Wake of the Storm

img_2323At some point that evening I went from being exhilarated by the fierce summer storm raging outside, to fleeing in fear to the only windowless room in our home. I huddled with my husband in the dark while the wind roared and shook the house as if it were too close to a speeding freight train. Finally sensing a lessening in the storm’s clamor, we cautiously crept out to witness the utter chaos left in the wake of its violent tantrums. Broken tree limbs and debris littered the lawn, but worse was the uprooted cottonwood tree stretched like a slain giant across our crumpled fence into the yard behind, barely missing the neighbor’s house.

In the following days as we cleaned up the wreckage from the storm, I mourned the loss of the cottonwood tree. On hot summer days we used to rest in our lawn chairs under its cool shade, lulled by the lyric rustle of its leaves in the breeze. It had been a green sanctuary to myriads of birds which we enjoyed watching splash in our nearby birdbath. Our grandchildren once climbed the lower branches, safe in its woody embrace. Now an ugly stump was all that remained, and empty space where once a friendly giant stood.

My husband took a more pragmatic view of the loss of the tree. He saw how its absence allowed more sunlight to reach his vegetable garden, especially the rows closest to the fence which always did poorly for lack of light. We observed carrots and parsnips gradually flourish with more sunlight to strengthen them.

In her book, “Roots & Sky”, author Christie Purifoy writes, “God does not erase our losses, those empty places in our lives, but He does something almost more miraculous. He fills the loss with a sign of His presence.” Losing a tree cannot compare to losing a loved one, or a marriage or a part of who you are, but for me it was a picture of how loss opens up room for a new work of God.

There was a time in my life when I lost everything I had ever feared losing; my marriage, financial security, health and family unity. In the midst of these devastating losses, I could not imagine a future when all would be made new, even better than before. But God could. “His mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of.” (Eph. 3:20 TLB)

God takes loss and turns it into abundance. In the ashes of my pain, I discovered the abundance of God’s love, His perfect character and His always faithful promises. When life left me hollowed out, He filled the space with His own presence. As I discovered, this is God’s specialty, giving beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. (Isa. 61:3 NKJV)

In the equation of loss becoming abundance, He uniquely illustrates for each of us His supreme renewal project, the death and resurrection of His Son, Jesus Christ.

“I tell you the truth,” Jesus said, “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24 NIV) He was speaking of Himself as the Seed, abused, crucified, buried in a dark tomb. Then the Seed came bursting forth alive, His resurrection beginning a great harvest of souls for God’s kingdom. Death gave way to life. Decay became deliverance.

A mighty tree once stood in my yard where now there is just a weathered stump. However new light floods a healthy garden where many seeds now flourish in abundance. In our memory’s landscape, the scar of a loss does not need to be a place of pain forever. It may be remembered, even mourned, but more significantly, it is a landmark telling where God met us and how He brought restoration and renewal out of the darkest places of our world.

Valerie Ronald and scriptordeus 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Valerie Ronald and scriptordeus with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Sorrow Knows No Strangers

IMG_1242Over the mourner’s heads I watch three young sisters walk slowly to the front of the church. Two carry vases filled with deep red roses and one carries an urn. They are formally saying goodbye to their father, although days of bedside vigils and watchful nights were witness to the real goodbyes. His parents and brother follow, bowed by the loss of a second son too young. Within the decorous confines of a funeral service, comfort is proffered but its starched ritual and words leave me wanting.

I imagine the liberty to enfold these fatherless daughters in my arms, barely known to them yet qualified to do so by the scars on my own heart. I have lost a father, a mother, a marriage, a dream, so the great vat of grief receives their tears alongside my own, blending them into one common cry. I would hold them close and mingle my tears with theirs, for sorrow knows no strangers. Generalities and platitudes forgotten, they would feel a once broken heart reaching out to their freshly broken hearts. They might rest their heads against its mended scars and know there is hope for a someday life.

In darkness and in secret, hidden from a world uncomfortable with grief, I once mined the depths of my own shattered heart, picking through its bloodied splinters until I found the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places revealed by God, who called me by name. (Isa. 45:3) Treasures not to be hoarded but to share generously, even when scars ache and pain reminds. Like diamonds formed under pressure deep in the earth, the jewels of God’s character sparkle against the black backdrop of loss and grief.

“The Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the source of every mercy, is the one who so wonderfully comforts and strengthens us in our hardships and trials. And why does He do this? So that when others are troubled, needing our sympathy and encouragement, we can pass on to them this same help and comfort God has given us.” (2 Cor. 1:3-4 Living Bible)

I would tell those beautiful, sad daughters that the Father of Jesus is a Father to the fatherless; that when they ache to be held in their daddy’s arms, God will gather them like lambs and carry them close to His heart. And when they long to hear their father’s silenced voice, Jesus will call them as little children to Himself because He said heaven belongs to them.* These words have the power to soothe their broken hearts and dry their tears. I know because words from the same source have been healing balm to my sorrows too.

Grief can do a strange work in the heart it breaks. Rather than losing pieces of itself, a broken heart in the hands of God can enlarge to eventually gather in those whose hearts are freshly wounded. From my place of sorrow I can offer the healing I have found, because I know the Healer.

*(Ps. 68:5; Isa. 40:11; Mt. 19:14)


© Valerie Ronald and scriptordeus 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Valerie Ronald and scriptordeus with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

© photo credit – Valerie Ronald  2014