Sand or Stone? Living with Grief

Two years. Two years and I now recognize a pattern in my life. The month of May passes and the weight lifts, summer is on the horizon, and it's time to take some ground, conquer some fears, remember her life and live mine with joy!

Then December comes and random thoughts begin to flood the recesses of my mind. Small moments throughout the days catch me by surprise with vivid memories of her laugh, her smile, her hug. In the rush of the holidays, I don't allow myself to grieve. This is the time of year to rejoice! So I push through and smile and sing Christmas carols and save her memory for another day.

Then January rolls around and it's her birthday month and from that point on, from the day of her birth here on earth until her heavenly birthday in May the pictures begin to show up on Instagram and Facebook, and I. Can't. Stop. The memories.

And I wrestle with the Lord because she should be here. It's not right. It's not good. It's not loving that she's not here. And I'm faced again with the harsh reality--yet also my deepest comfort--that God's ways are not my ways. (Deuteronomy 29:29) And her memory reminds me to stay humble because just when you think you've got God figured out is exactly when you don't.

I have experienced loss before her. I have lost grandparents and have even weathered a miscarriage. Somehow the loss of someone older was expected, not easier to bare mind you, but expected. That fits the flow of all life. We live, grow old, and die. The older pass before the younger, sometimes earlier than we like, but still a reasonable assumption.

The miscarriage was the loss of a life I'd never know, a child I'd never hold. That loss was not easier, but less connected. The hardest part was not understanding in full who you were grieving because everyone deserves to be known.

But at nineteen? At nineteen the whole world should be ahead of you. You are connected to everyone around you and all the hopes and dreams of the possibilities before you. You have a past that is full and meaningful and a future that is bright. Selfishly I think, I had poured some of the best of me into her. I was suppose to live long enough to see her pour it back into the world. She was suppose to grieve my death one day.

Instead, two years ago, her death ripped a cataclysmic black hole into the universe of my beliefs, my life. And God has allowed her death to pour more meaning back into my life than I thought possible, than I knew was possible.

People may believe this move to California has changed me, that the process of the move has been the catalyst for change in my life. I'm here to tell you it was her death that left me marked.

It was her death at age 19 that God used to show me I have nothing figured out, nothing is in my control, and at the end of the day, no matter what, all I have left is Him.

When the storm washes away all the sand at the foundation of how you live your life, what that foundation is ultimately built upon at the bottom is all that stands. It's from that point you get to reset.

I fail everyday, but with the bones of my structure exposed two years ago, I got the chance to make some new choices. Was I going to continue filling in around my foundation with the sands of busyness, of false idols in family and friends, of ambition, of pride, of control? Or would I make a different choice this time?

No. Trust. Trust in the God of my salvation are the stones I will choose this time. Trust and faith, altar stones that come in shapes and sizes I don't understand or often know how to fit together, each one different from the rest. I have to wait to place them, one at a time, at His direction, at my Master Builder's pace. And He has been faithful to build in me a stronger foundation than I've ever had before.

Yet there are still times when I rush, when I get impatient, when I want the busyness, the pride, the control, the false idols back in my life that I try to pour those sands onto these new rocks. And the sand seeps into the crevices and holes of my foundation, and it sticks, it stays, and it rubs me raw, and it sits until the next rain comes, the next wave, the next storm, the next tsunami.

Then all that sand washes away.  Again.  Once more.  Painfully. (Matthew 7:24-27)

But this time at my foundation I realize there are more stones left behind than from the storm before. I'm not starting over from scratch every time God strips the rubbing sands out of my life, the things that won't hold up in the storm. There's a larger foundation to start over with than the storm before. And sometimes it scares me because I can't help but borrow trouble and think, "What exactly are you preparing me for, Lord?"

There's never an answer to this question. He just holds out more stones of faith and trust, and I stand there, staring at Him. Will I take them? Will I continue to build the foundation of my life with Him? Do it His way?

How can I not? Did He not send His only Son to die for my sin? Did not He too rip open a black hole in His own universe by turning His back on that Son in His own holiness? God, of all people, of anyone knows the greatest of griefs, the greatest of sufferings. His innocent Son died for my salvation, for my eternity at His own command. His innocent, perfect, only child. (John 3:16)

If in my own grief, I hope I live a life that honors the memory of my daughter-sister-friend, how can I not choose to live a life that honors my Savior-Lord-Father-Friend as well? Even more so!!! How can I not simply build my life as an altar with the stones of His choosing?
Isn't that the very least I can do?

And praise Jesus! He's actually alive and well and present and willing and able to equip me to honor Him with my life!! (2 Peter 1:3-8, 2 Timothy 3:16-17)

How can I not?

And so the wrestling with God ends, and her death takes on a new life in my life Every. Single. Time. By bringing me full circle back to the truth of my Jesus' death for me.

That's really all that matters, and the truth is, that's really all that ever will. My lesson in life these days: The grass will never be greener anywhere else but in Jesus' yard.
It's time for me to stop looking.

Maybe, by God's grace, I can teach my kids to stop looking as well. Maybe.

What is it that has marked you recently? That has ripped a black hole in your universe? That makes you wrestle with God? Through the pain, can you see the good yet? Are you determined that your life will grow joy out of that pain? Or are you still lost in the black hole, in the pain?

Keep wrestling. (Genesis 32:22-32) Do the hard thing and work it out. Do the mental work. Do the heart work. Do the soul work it takes to wrestle with God. You might end up physically limping in the end, but my guess is you will also end up eternally blessed--you AND those that follow you.

Put your back into it, and do the work it takes to place those stones of trust and faith at the foundation of your life--the life God Himself has designed and destined. Only He has the blueprints. Only He knows where to place those stones. Put down your bags of sand, which may pour out easier, but ultimately weigh more than those stones, and all that sand WILL wash away. It's just a matter of time.

Today I choose the Rock. Today I place another stone of trust. "He only is my Rock and my Salvation, My stronghold; I shall not be greatly shaken." Psalm 62:2 (The soundtrack to this blog in my head right now: Meredith Andrew's song Your Kingdom Reigns.)

Not by might nor by power, but by His Spirit alone! (Zechariah 4:6) Amen!

.........
"The breath of the Almighty gives me life. Job 33:4"
In loving memory of Savannah Joy Veale.
Today you dance two years in heaven. Oh the stories you can tell!