Our youngest was a daddy’s girl. Of the five children, she was the one who preferred Jeremy, even over me. So, naturally, whenever she needed comfort, she ran to her father.
But I remember a time when baby girl fell down the stairs. She was so angry! She was hurt. And she refused to be comforted. Even by her daddy. So, Jeremy went and sat on the floor beside her until she was ready to let him pick her up, tend her wounds and put her back on her feet.
And so it is with us in our grief journey. Our Heavenly Father stoops down to us when we don’t have the strength—or the sense—to run to Him. He sits beside us in our pain, our anger and our ugliness. He listens to every word, each bitter sob, even our silence. Then He tenderly wipes our tears, binds our wounds, picks us up and places us back on our feet.
When I am overwhelmed with the fears and grief that this death and loss bring—so much so that I cannot even turn my eyes upward—I can rest assured that He is right there beside me, sitting with me in my silence, hearing my anguish, moved with compassion by my sorrow and at the ready to lift me up and place my feet on solid ground once again.
Oh, what a good, good Father we have!
I love the Lord because He hears my voice and my prayer for mercy. Because He bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!
Ps. 116:1-2
TPW 11/9/21 (four weeks after Jeremy’s death)
