There's A Tattoo On My Back

I know I write about grief a lot. After my last post, my husband gently questioned, "Is that really where you are all the time?" The truth is yes and no. Grief is funny that way. In this season of my life, it is also where the Lord continually shows up, proving Himself to me over and over again. 

But the truth lies in His presence being with me in the highs and the lows, a constant presence in the ordinary and the mundane as well.

The truth is I have experienced so much joy and beauty in the midst of my grief that it seems incongruent to be able to write about both. So, I put a tattoo on my back.

This piece of art was five years in the making. Veale's death had left me marked in such a way, it didn't seem honest to let that truth be only tattooed on my heart. But it took five years of prayer, Pinterest searching, Bible reading, and God bringing the right tattoo artist at the right place and time across my path to get it done.

You see, this is my daily reminder that joy and beauty are found all around me--in the midst of the pain and the hard and the sad, there is thrill, life abundant, adventure, and newness to be born and discovered every morning, around every corner. The common thread binding these two polar realities together? IN HIS PRESENCE.

In Jesus' presence, I experience peace, hope, comfort, joy, and a renewed love for His purpose for my life. This promise in psalms has been my anchor through the waves of grief and my reason for rejoicing at my highest highs......

Psalm 16:11 "You make known to me the path of life; 

                                       you will fill me with joy in your presence,

                                                                                                                            with eternal pleasures at your right hand." (NIV)

Savannah Veale had tattooed Job 33:4 across her rib cage as a reminder that regardless of her asthma and allergies and all the suffering they brought to her life, it was God who gave her the breath of life. It was for His glory and His purposes that she lived each day to the fullest. She was the literal, walking embodiment of joy in the midst of pain. Her tattoo was her reminder to herself that her life was not her own.....

Job 33:4 "The Spirit of God has made me;
                                                                                               the breath of the Almighty gives me life." (NIV)

And where have I found God's presence? Where have I not is a better question! My entire life I have seen Him in the artistry of His creation--every cell, every atom of matter, creature, weather movement, sunset, sunrise, mountain crag, ocean swell--in all of it, I see Jesus. I feel and experience His presence. I see God's brush strokes, His attention to detail, how the fires burn and life greens anew from the ashes, how the clouds roll in yet make for the most beautiful sunsets, how the climb is steep and jagged yet the view from the top is breathtaking. If you ever wonder why I love to travel, it's because I love to see the extent and glory of my Jesus in the world He created out of love for you and me. I can't get enough....

Psalm 19:1 "The heavens declare the glory of God,
                                                                                   and the sky above proclaims his handiwork." (ESV)

If you want to have your own personal worship experience with the Lord, find your favorite place to sit in His creation and meditate on the entirety of Psalm 19. See if He doesn't reveal Himself to you in a new way, a personal way.

And the last verse on the compass of my tattoo, well, this one was a personal call for me. I chose it because it's the verse in the Bible that comes to mind when you think of joy. The joy of the Lord is your strength, right? But when I went to look at the verse in its entirety, to make sure I wanted the context tattooed on me forever, this is what I found....

Nehemiah 8:10 "Nehemiah said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for                              the joy of the Lord is your strength.”(NIV)

Now, the context of the story in Nehemiah was God's children grieving as the Word of God was being read. Whether because of the realization of just how much of the law they had broken, were unable to keep, or from an overwhelming sense of unworthiness, I'm not sure, but the text is clear that they were grieved and weeping when they heard the words of the law. (Nehemiah 8:9b) But grief is grief. Why you grieve doesn't diminish the emotion or weight of grief. 

What I read here, what I heard God say to me in this verse was, "Jennifer, Go! Live your life. Enjoy what I have given you--food, health, friendships, children, marriage, ministry--Enjoy them! Share these with those around you, the ones who aren't experiencing these things, the ones who don't have Me to enjoy. Jennifer, stop grieving, for your strength to move forward, to live life, to enjoy life is found in Me. I AM the joy you so desperately seek and want to be consumed by."

And in the fullness of this verse, of which we so often only quote the last line, the Lord gave me permission, a commission even, to stop grieving and enjoy Him and share Him and give Him all the glory and all the credit for any strength or joy anyone may think I have.

And so as an obedient child, I do my best to enjoy Him and all He has given. Every chance I get. I endeavor to laugh as hard as I cry, to smile as often as I may have cause for concern, to celebrate as much as I mourn, and to be grateful even in the midst of loss. 

The beauty is one emotion does not matter more or outweigh the other. One emotion does not cancel out or diminish the importance or reality of the other. In Jesus' presence I am free to experience both fully, without fear or condemnation for He is Lord of it all.

Which is why in His presence is exactly where I aim to live my life because there is where I find everything I ever need.

To My Grieving Friend

Dear Friend,

I see you. I see your suffering. The weight of what you bear does not go unnoticed, unrecognized, or unappreciated.

And what might be hardest is there's nothing I can do to ease your pain. There's literally nothing to say that sounds right or appropriate or that doesn't need to be qualified in some way. So very often, I purposely choose to say nothing at all. I deliberately censor my conversations and catch myself correcting my phrasing as the words are coming out. And because I love you so deeply, part of me longs to not do this, to be care-freely honest as friends should be, but then I also love you so much I know that a gentle, tenderness and an understanding spirit are also needed. Honesty and discernment can still go hand in hand.

I never want to intentionally cause you more pain. So if I do, please forgive me and offer me the benefit of the doubt.

The truth is you're not the same person that you were before this grief consumed you. I don't expect you ever will be again. It will mark your story for the rest of your days. I know this, and yet, sometimes my heart skips a little when I see a glimmer of the old you, only to realize that's not fair and not true and not loving because the desire to see that person is completely selfish on my part. So every moment I spend with you now, I just choose to love you for who you are and how you are and where you are today. I expect nothing of you, and I'm grateful for the friendship you still offer.

So what to do? What to say? What to be? What to offer?

I've come to the conclusion all I have is my time and my presence. A listening ear on the other side of a text, an encouraging smile, a sympathetic touch, a supportive hug, a person to look into your eyes, see and acknowledge your pain and choose to stay. To stay for one more minute, one more hour, one more conversation, be one more distraction. 

I choose to believe for you when you can't. To believe you will one day find joy again. To dream of bright futures full of happy memories for you. To believe you still have great and mighty purposes to accomplish and fulfill on this earth. To believe that a future and a hope are still yours for the living. To petition the throne room of our Lord on your behalf, begging Him to hold you, comfort you, be Enough for you, for today, for this moment.

I offer you my presence in this hardest of battles to endure. I will stand beside you and hold up your arms when you're too weak to hold them up any longer. I will stand in the gap in prayer for you and your family, consistently, and persistently. I won't give up on you. I won't run or back down or grow weary in just being there.

I will cry for you. Tears in private I will not burden you with, but tears on your behalf nonetheless. And I like to believe that maybe every tear I've shed on your behalf is one less tear you've had to shed yourself. I'd like to think it works that way. That my highly emotional, overly sensitive self is being used in some way behind the veil in the kingdom of God to lighten your burden. That my ability to cry so easily is somehow a gift from God to relieve the burdens of others. I don't know, but maybe. I like to think so.

And this is all I have to offer. An unconditional presence with no strings attached, no expectations, just maybe a little grace on the days the sadness of your sadness weighs extra heavy. That's all. I wish it was more. I wish I could guarantee that would be enough. But you and I both know, Jesus is the only One who can be and will be Enough to carry you through. If my only purpose is to remind you of that every now and again, then I'm content.

This grief is not your whole story, my friend. It's not. I don't believe that. It may be the backdrop, the scenery, the background music to your story--all deeply meaningful, beautiful, and unforgettable--but not the whole story. I wish I could tell you when the joy will return. I wish I could shield you from the waves of grief that will continue to crash. Instead, I pray you let me swim in the storm with you because I will and be a small part to play in encouraging your story to continue because I can.

You are not defined by this grief. You are a child of God defined by Jesus Himself, His own dearly, preciously loved possession. Never forget that's who you truly are.

You are my friend. And I am blessed to know you, to journey with you. Given the choice, even knowing what was to come, I'd be your friend all over again. I can do nothing to remove your pain, to lessen your sorrow, but I can be someone who's here, who sees you right where you are, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I can choose to be here and show up and pray up.

That's all have to offer. To God be the glory if it's enough.

In Christ,

Your Friend