Oceans of Grief

One of my favorite things to do is travel. It's something I'd like to do more of in my life. I even have a daily calendar on my desk that's based on the book 1000 Places to See Before You Die. Each page has a new location. Now, I've traveled a bit in my life, but so far, I haven't seen a place I've actually visited yet. But we're only a month into the year, so I'm sure I'll see some of the places I've been. In the meantime, I'm keeping track of the suggested places, and dreaming about places I'd like to go. A friend suggested that I plan on one place that John and I had wanted to travel to together. But there isn't just one place--there are several. But maybe in awhile, I'll figure out one special place and make that a goal to plan for in the next year. I do have a new passport, thanks to an almost-trip to China.

I think one of my favorite things about living in Michigan is the beauty of the Great Lakes. I think much healing takes place when I stand on the shores of a body of water--particularly here in Michigan--the beautiful Lake Michigan. Once per year, I travel with a bunch of girlfriends to Grand Haven--I didn't go last year, as John had just began his stay in Stoneleigh that week. I usually don't get to church that weekend. At least not in a building.

I started a tradition which I've honored almost every time I go on this trip. I rise very early on Sunday morning, and I go down to the beach all by myself. And usually, I have the place to myself except for the occasional fisher on the pier. That has become my church on that weekend.

Have you noticed that grief is often compared to bodies of water or water itself? "Waves of grief," "Cry me a river," and "I cried buckets," come to mind.

It's true.

The reason I'm whittling away at this on breaks this morning is because I had a tidal wave last night.

I had just finished laundry and I went to Meijer to pick up a few things. On my way home (I was about 10 miles from the house), I cried about the hardest I've ever cried in my life. Thankfully, I was in the car, so no one--save God--heard me. I started to think I should pull over but somehow, I was still able to navigate my way home. Actually, I hardly remember driving.

You ever heard the phrase "wailing"? Well, reader, that was me.

And it did two things: It helped me release. A lot. And, it made me tired. So all that worry about being able to sleep? It was not a problem.

I did leave the television on, as I didn't want the house to be quiet--if that makes sense.

I didn't even cry myself to sleep. I had cried enough in that drive that I had none left to release. But even after that much crying, I'm sure if I needed to, it would be there.

And I awoke this morning, got ready, and went to work.

And at one point, I caught myself feeling a bit of peace as I peered out a window and watched the snow gently fall during a stroll through the building. No joy yet, but it did make me think of a couple of scriptures, which I'll leave you with on this post.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones,
   and give thanks to his holy name.  
For his anger is but for a moment;
   his favour is for a lifetime.
Weeping may linger for the night,
   but joy comes with the morning.
Psalm 30:4-5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
‘See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.’   
Revelation 21:1-4

And one of my favorite musical settings of the text from Revelation follows; music by Edward Bainton, performed by King's College, Cambridge:

I Saw a New Heaven, Edgar Bainton