Poetry

The morning sunlight streams
through my bedroom window
signaling my eyes to open.

They open slowly,
look around,
not fully focused yet.
Everything looks familiar;
yet at the same time
eerily different.

I remember then that it is.
Although my surroundings are exactly the same,
they are completely and forever changed.

The sunshine, usually a welcome greeting, now has become hot, searing, an unwelcome
intrusion
to the gift of sleep.

I remember now – it’s June
And I completely missed Spring.
It came didn’t it? I know it did.
You and I awaited it,
plotting and planning
beautiful flower varieties
we could add to our garden
this year
and beautiful memories
we would make.

We waited eagerly for Spring’s arrival,
knowing it would be a time to feast our eyes,
engage our senses,
and celebrate
another year of marriage.
In April.
In the Spring.

But I missed Spring this year,
and so did you.
Instead of finding ourselves
basking in the sunlight,
breathing in God’s fresh air,
we found ourselves deep
in unfamiliar darkness,
far away from any sunshine,
as you bravely fought an invisible, insidious, merciless, disease
that had already claimed
far too many lives.

But in its greed,
it took one more.
One more precious to me
than my own.

I missed Spring this year,
and so did you.
Spring with her profuse beauty,
dried brown grass
turning to vivid green
trees proudly
sprouting their leaves again,
and flower after flower
putting on the most spectacular show each day,
seemingly just for us.

This year Spring was muted,
Her joy unnoticed
because pain reached out and trapped me in its grasp.
It has me trapped there still.

Yes, I missed Spring this year,
and so did you.

But it did still come.

God chose this Spring
to carry you home
to Himself,
where all His gardens
bloom eternally.

And He’s chosen this Spring,
to carry me in His arms,
As He gently reminds me
Of His Promise:
“Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy comes in the morning.”

We are moving into summer,
separated
by an unseen spiritual realm,
You in the very presence of the SON:
and that same SON
reaching out to me each morning,
beckoning me to “rise up”
and let Him carry me through another day.
Yes, I missed Spring this year,
And so did you.
But it did come.
God chose this Spring to
carry you home to Himself,
And Now,
He daily wipes my tears
with His Grace.
This is what Grief looks like
It sneaks in in the middle of the night
Rummages through all that is near and dear to you
Steals what is most precious to you,
And leaves you wounded, bleeding
on the ground.
It has no heart, nor soul
And all your attempts at pleading
to have your life restored to its former glory
Fall on its deaf ears.
This is what Grief looks like
It hits you at the oddest parts
of the day
Then it hits you full strength at night
waking you drenched with sweat
Wondering where you are
and how you got here.
It’s journey is long and it’s hard and it’s arduous.
It’s not for the faint of heart
Nor is it a journey you should attempt alone.
To do so, would be at your own peril.
This is what Grief looks like
It shatters everything it touches,
It seeks to destroy
And were it not for the
Grace of God it would.
But this is what Grace looks like.
It overshadows and overcomes
Even the deepest of Griefs.
It comes to comes to comfort,
to encourage, to lift up your heart.
It comes to dry your tears,
and whispers in your ears,
“You are not alone.
I am here with you
Every step of the way.
I will never leave you
nor forsake you.”
My love for you
is everlasting.”
It comes full of love
and compassion
And pours both over you
Until you are drenched in those things
Rather than your own tears and sweat.
It comes to gently bind up your wounds
And to rub healing salve on them.
It comes to slowly, almost imperceptibly at first
calm the raging fear of loss
And open up your heart to love again.
It comes to save us
from ourselves
And to carry the burdens
which have long been too
heavy to bear.
It comes to make all things new.
Grace, Amazing Grace
~Terry Gassett
Is there beauty IN grief?
Not the beauty that is birthed OUT OF grief,
but beauty that is actually
IN the grief?

If so, where is it?

Is it in the teardrop that trickles out from the corner of an eye,
barely noticed by most?

Or is it in the teardrops that flow freely, unashamedly,
unable to be silenced any longer, there for all to see?

Is it in the heart that loves so deeply,
it breaks in two?
Or is it in the Healer,
who begins His Healing,
even at the very moment
our heart is breaking?

Is it in the gentle breeze
that blows our hair,
making us feel life around us,
even when we feel lifeless?

Or is it in the sunrise
that wakes us
to each new day?
Or the sunset
that signals
we have made it
though yet one more day?

Is it in the birds
who serenade
at daybreak?

Or is it in
the Tawny Owl
who hoots
under cover of nightfall?

Is it in the loneliness
that terrifies us
in the middle of the night?

Or is it in the company
of someone
who really gets it?

Is it in these places,
and perhaps even more?

If there is beauty in grief,
can it be found?

If so, where is it?
What if victory isn’t about winning, but more about staying in the fight?

What it bravery isn’t the absence of fear, but showing up anyway to do it afraid?

What if grief tears need to flow/must flow freely in order to not only sit with the pain but to begin to move through it?

What if the pain isn’t here to destroy us - but to actually heal us as we surrender it moment by moment to the Great Physician?

What if joy isn’t an emotion we feel, but a grace-gift rooted in relationship with the Joy-Giver Himself that co-exists alongside the deepest pain, seemingly lost, but just momentarily hidden?

What if we believed that Joy walked alongside us, even through our darkest nights - especially during our darkest nights - waiting patiently until we would not only recognize it again, but experience it again? Deeper now, because of the intimacy mixed and cultivated in and through the deepest of pain.

What it we remembered that it is Grace that brought us this far and it is Grace that will carry us through to the other side? That all-sufficient Grace of His strength made perfect in our weakness?

Oh Lord - I believe - Help my unbelief. Mark 9:24 (Paraphrased)