Blessed be the name of the Lord

After Brigid died, it took about four or five weeks for the numbness to start to wear off, and for us to really start feeling the weight of our grief.  It started becoming more difficult to carry instead of easier.  I also started to feel like the Lord, whose presence and comfort was almost physically tangible to me in the days and weeks before, was pulling away.  I remember standing in the kitchen and washing dishes and crying, saying to him, “No, please don’t go!  Please don’t leave me!”

It was right around that time that we had another devastating tragedy hit our family, and I truly felt like someone was holding my head under water.  Like I couldn’t even get a second to come up for air.  It physically felt hard to breathe.  My heart was heavy. My chest had a weight on it.  It was literally crushing.

I felt like Job.  Remember him?  Everything was going just fine for Job until one day, God allowed him to be tested.  God removed His protection for a time and tragedy befell Job.  Not just one tragedy – a series of devastating events, one immediately after the other.  So close, in fact, that the scripture says that while one messenger was still speaking to Job, informing him of something horrific, the next messenger would arrive, with his own tale of woe.

After all of the messages had been relayed to Job, he responded by saying, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there.  The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

This seems so hard to believe, that someone could experience all of those things and yet have that response.  Surely, anger at God would have been justified in this case?  And yet, Job did not sin by cursing God.  And this was prior to any of the good news that comes to us in the New Testament with the arrival of Jesus and the promises He gave us.  We learn there that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord (Romans 8:28), that there is victory over death, and that, while even Jesus the healer wept at the death of his dear friend, Lazarus, we don’t have to grieve like those who have no hope for seeing their loved ones again. (1 Thessalonians 4:13)

When Brigid died, I was challenged by the book of Job.  I had people telling me it was okay to be angry at God – that He could take it.  And I knew this was true.  But I had a lifelong relationship with God and Jesus.  I knew that trials and suffering were part of life and that they weren’t to blame for them.  I knew that trials strengthened our faith.  And I remembered that when, at the end of the book, Job even dared to question, “Why?” God sat him down and told him of all His vast knowledge and power.  Sometimes, even sarcastically – “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?  Tell me, if you understand.Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!” (Job 38:4)  I knew what that meant.  Sarcasm is my second language.

So I asked God to help me understand.  I didn’t want to ask why, and I didn’t want to curse Him.  But I needed help understanding how a loving Father could have answered all our prayers for her healing with, “No.”  And then He answered me.  It was like a comforting hug.  Like a band-aid on my broken heart. I shared that answer when I gave Brigid’s eulogy.

I felt like God comforted my heart by helping me understand that the suffering we were experiencing, though it felt like a heavy cross to bear, was light and momentary and achieving for us an eternal glory. (2 Corinthians 4:17) I felt like He was teaching us about Himself in our suffering, and giving us a perspective on eternity, compassion for others, and a hope for heaven that we had been lacking. In doing so, He was refining us in the fire and making us more like Christ.  In hindsight, I think the pulling away I felt in those weeks after Brigid died was like a parent who lets go of his child’s bike as he learns to ride with no training wheels.  In those early, wobbly trials, the parent is still holding on, but at some point, he has to say, “Okay, I’ve taught you all I can, but you won’t learn how to use it unless I let go.  Now you just have to do it.”  He is not abandoning the child; it is in love that he lets go.  He is still right there, but eventually, the child has to take all of the wisdom and instruction imparted by the parent and actually put it into practice.   He has to take the words and turn them into knowledge and understanding.  There is no better way to put the words of your faith into practice than with a trial, and the death of a baby is the ultimate trial.  I wonder if any of this understanding would have been possible without going through that dark valley.  On the other side of it, I have to say that I don’t think it would have.  We are truly changed.

Of course, we still struggle daily with sin in our lives and we still feel the weight of grief. It’s not like now we’ve learned this valuable lesson and we don’t have anything else to learn.  We treat each other unkindly and our grief can translate into a short temper or anger or distraction that feels like laziness.  We forget to love God and one another.  Yesterday was a particularly hard day for me on all of those fronts.  Not until we reach heaven will those things be over.  But we know that one day, he will wipe every tear from our eyes, and there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying or pain. (Revelation 21:4)

We sang this song in church yesterday, and it has been in my head ever since.  That verse in Job that says the Lord gives and the Lord takes away can be of little comfort, unless we also combine it with the knowledge that He loves us, that He works all things together for our good, that there are rewards in heaven for our suffering on earth, and that we will be reunited with our loved ones again one day.

If He is worthy of praise when good things happen, then He is worthy of praise when bad things happen.  He doesn’t change.  He is good.  I hope that encourages you like it does me.

Blessed be the name of the Lord!

Beauty Will Rise

When our Brigid died, I had a hard time understanding God’s plan.

I wondered how a good and loving Father could have chosen not to heal our baby, but to take her instead.  Especially when we’d already lost her twin sister.  I tried hard not to ask, “Why?” and to just trust that He is good, that He still loves us, and that somehow, He was in control of our situation.  I could feel His presence with me, comforting me even as I spent days and days in tears.  But I still did not understand.

The album, Beauty Will Rise, by Stephen Curtis Chapman, was one that I played over and over again.   He wrote the songs after the tragic death of his three-year-old daughter, and he wrestled with the same questions.  The songs were relevant, hopeful, and helpful to me as I tried to balance my faith and my grief.  I loved that he was so real in expressing his feelings and giving a voice to my own.  In one song, he talks about heaven being the face of his little girl.  “God, I know it’s all of this and so much more,” he sings.  “But God, you know that this is what I’m longing for.”  He knew that God understood that even though heaven is about being with Him for eternity, for those of us who have lost a loved one, the most important thing about heaven is being reunited with that person.


We used one of the songs from the album in a slideshow we played at Brigid’s viewing.  You can view the slideshow and listen to the song here.

Was there any song or poem that you found to be helpful to you in your grief?