Through a Funeral

Yesterday we attended the funeral of our nephew, Stuart.  Today we wake up feeling weird.  I guess if we woke up feeling "normal" there would be cause for worry.

So many thoughts roam this vast wilderness that is called my mind.  I keep coming back to one word that surfaces:  through.  This loss, any loss, must be walked ... through.

Yesterday the words of one called a pastor comforted the family with a visual of grief, this grief, being like carrying a backpack.  Right now, the backpack feels like it's too heavy to carry.  Yet, carry it she must, this Momma who lost her son.  Carry it he must, this Daddy who found the body.  Carry it they must, grandparents who felt they could have done more.  Carry it he must, this brother who now steps into the role of first-born.  Carry it she must, this Aunt who heard her name mispronounced by her departed nephew as a toddler.  This grief must be carried ... it must be gone ... through.

Stuart's death was an accidental death due to an overdose.  His parents made this statement clear to the mostly young audience that gathered yesterday to say goodbye to their friend.  He made a poor decision.  If their warning is headed, they feel Stuarts death counted for something.  Noble and heart-breaking all at the same time.

Now, as "weird" hits all of those involved, the going "through" has begun.  Some may get stuck. Unforgiveness, questions, anger, denial may keep them in deep waters, allowing them to feel the weight of this invisible backpack of grief.  Some may want to run.  Running may feel good, but in the end it only makes you tired.  Going through is slow and necessary each step by painful step.

Being a follower of Jesus doesn't make one immune from pain.  Loss is loss to any human.  However, it gives me tools to walk - through.  This morning with a headache from tears and a heavy heart from thoughts of my step-sister, Tiffany, I open  my book, the book that keeps me grounded and I read the following:

When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.  When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.  When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.

God's desire for me, in great loss, is to feel the weight of that backpack and ... walk ... through.  Not to get stuck.  Not running to ignore the pain.  Not alone.  I - walk - through - with - God.  I walk through, honestly, and I walk with someone who knows me and the pain and will guide me to the other side.  He's big enough to handle my fear, my doubt, my anger, my questions, all of it as I step-by-step walk through.  He's even big enough to carry me ... through ... when I can't find the energy to walk on my own.  He is there.

The great mystery is not the absence of being in the middle of deep waters, rivers of difficulty or in fires of oppression.  That's a given in this life. However, in the middle of the junk ... He goes through with me.  He is big enough to erase the obstacle.  Yet, if all were erased, I may never experience the nearness of One so great, so loving, so near that walks with me through when the pain feels too deep, too hard, too permanent.

My hope ... for Tiffany, for all who grieve for Stuart, is that in the walking through, we feel the nearness of God.  He is there.  He's walking us all ... through.