Grief

I'm so thankful for God's presence in the midst of grief. I myself am not grieving the loss of a loved one, but last night I received a call to comfort a grieving family. After an all-night, ugly, painful scene of attempting to extend God's grace, I am worn out. It's 2:30 in the morning, and I can't get the hurt out of my mind.

A son took his own life after overdosing on crystal meth. I'm not sure exactly how the scene played out, but the 33 year old son, father, brother, nephew, and grandson is gone. No more will they have to worry about his safety; however, now they wonder about his soul.

As I drove to their home to gasp out some comforting words, I cried and wept for the situation I was about to witness. My wildest dreams did not compare to the grieving family I was about to observe. The raw hurt, anger, frustration, and confusion did much to educate a young pastor in a short amount of time.

I came away a few minutes ago exhausted from the sheer emotional stress I was and am still under. I can't stop asking questions like, "How will they ever get through this?" "Will they ever get through this?" and "What in the world can I say to help?" There are no words. There is no amount of hugging I can do to erase the pain. Only God can heal.

I just finished listening to the song, "Jesus, Jesus". It says,

Jesus, Jesus,
Sweetest Rose of Sharon
Bright and Morning Star
Jesus, Jesus
Fairest of Ten thousand, most beautiful by far

One thing I know and am trying desperately to communicate to this family. God is good. And His grace will be sufficient and His strength will be made perfect in our weakness.

And I thought about the concept I was trying to get across to them, I realized that His grace is sufficient for me as well, and His strength is made perfect in my weakness too. Thanks be to a loving sustaining God that walks with us and speaks through us.

I wish people understood the bonding that takes place in a pastor's heart and mind when they help a family through a tragedy. For me, it's like they become my family and I become responsible for their well-being. My sleep is interrupted constantly of thoughts for them and I can't help but breathe a prayer every time I roll over or fluff my pillow while I'm asleep. My mind is consumed with their tear streaked faces, and I will not get over these pictures until their loved one is buried, maybe even longer than that. It's exhausting, it's burdensome, but it's oh so fulfilling to know that God has made a difference by using me.