Despair and Hope

This week has been painful.

As I wrote before, my heart is heavy with grief after hearing of Ben’s death 8 days ago. And my heart is broken for Rachel, his widow, although I don’t know her.

I think it’s been hard this week because I remember that pain like it was yesterday. Only it was 10 years ago on August 9th when I witnessed the drowning of my brother, Jeremy. Most of you know my story. I was 14. Jeremy just turned 18. We went with friends after church to Hagg Lake…

I remember being only 20 feet from him, trying to encourage him to regain strength by treading water for a moment so he could swim back to shore. But it was too late. I remember his friend, Ben, trying to save him in the water, but Jeremy was pulling him down too. I remember watching, having no anticipation that he would actually die that day. It was shock.

I remember screaming “That’s my brother. That’s my brother.” It’s the only thing I could say as strangers dove into the water. I watched his last breaths bubble to the surface. I watched the divers find his body, and emergency crew trying to resuscitate him. I remember the plastic yellow body bag. I watched my parents sign the death certificate in the parking lot, sitting on the curb. I remember the sleepless night and horribly daunting mornings. I remember the military recruiting people calling, asking for Jeremy months after he died. I remember still receiving his college application letters in the mail and having to go through his belongings. Cancelling his bank accounts.

The flowers stop coming. The cards stop coming. People don’t know what to say- and it’s awkward. Then the holidays approach. The anniversaries, the birthdays. For the first few years, these were accompanied with more cards from thoughtful people. But then it fades some more. It’s not their fault. I know they still remember Jeremy. But it’s a painful part of the grieving process. Eventually you realize that it’s between you and God.

As I prayed for Rachel and the Chapmans this week, I’ve reflected a lot on my experience. There are a few similarities, although I can’t fathom losing my husband. I understand what the first hours bring, and then days, and then weeks, and then months, and then years. The confusion. Pain. Anger. Peace. Moments of realizing the voids ahead. Loneliness. Hope. Sorrow. Despair. The unexpected waves of paralyzing grief. Special places are now terrible reminders….

And so I’ve journeyed through these emotions again this week. Will they ever feel healing after experiencing such a traumatic sudden accident? Will the images and noises of that night always haunt them? How are they supposed to find hope after losing someone so incredibly significant?

And then God reminds me that I, myself, have been through this hell. I have devastating images of my own. I know this sorrow and helplessness. And look at what God has done. He has healed my wounds and has given me an unexplainable peace. God is my HEALER. My ROCK. He can give hope to the most desperate and lonely. He can handle our questions and anger. He understands our grief.

The familiar agonizing pain I’ve felt this week has been tangled with thankfulness for God’s grace. He can heal the most broken souls. It took time- which is the last thing you want to hear when you’ve lost someone and don’t want to have to heal.

But God is a MIGHTY God. He is mighty to save.
And so I gladly let God expose my heart again to this sorrow, so I can be continually praying for Rachel.

Please pray.
For moments of rest and hope.

And if you’re in a place of pain…
Do not give up.
God could be putting your name and face on the heart of someone you might not even know, to pray for you. That's how good He is.

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