Blessed are those who mourn

Dear Jesus,

You know that I am no stranger to grief. I am no stranger to pain, although I’ve often minimized my own pain. I’ve been reading this book your Spirit led me to called the “Highly Sensitive Person.” Before I found this book, I had been figuring out slowly, bit by bit, that I’m a sensitive person. The list of how I am sensitive is long. I have delicate ears, can’t drink caffeine, and clutter easily stresses me out if something else is amiss. So I feel pain in a way that others don’t feel pain. In fact, reading that book has been enlightening and hard. Overwhelming even. For some reason, I think you are teaching me how to care for myself and my kids, because I am blessed with sensitive kids too. If it weren’t for that, I would think the book was a bit of a torture device.

Today, during this advent season, many are alone for the first time because they’ve lost loved ones or their husbands up and left for no good reason at all. Grief during the holiday season, during the time of festivals, community, and joy is hard. Grief during any time is hard, but during the seasons of community, grief in the midst of joy is isolating. It seems that as time passes, the grief changes rather than gets easier.

You said that “blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Today I am asking you to comfort those who are mourning losses. My grandfather died last night, and for forever, I will celebrate the birth of a child and the death of a grandfather on this day. Eight years ago when my beloved Annabelle was born, you knew my grandpa would breath his last breath last night, so instead of allowing her to be born on the day of my dad’s birth or my parent’s anniversary, she came a week “late” or right on time. A day we could treasure life instead of death. A day we could be comforted in our grief.

Jesus, when you died on that cross, we died too. We were crucified with you, and we no longer live, but you live in us. You died so that we could know what is like to live, not just live, but Live being fully alive and engaged. You know better than I what it is like to grieve. You’ve created beings that everyday choose something other than you. You loved us so much, you died. When you are separated from your people, you grieve too. One of the most profound verses in the Bible says, “Jesus wept.” You know what it is like to lose those you love. You are close to the brokenhearted. You provide for those who grieve. Where there was death, life occurs. In the ash, there grows beauty. Instead of mourning, you give joy. You turn despair into praise.

Today, even though there is sadness, I choose the joy you brought into the world as a baby. I choose to dwell not on this world, but on my true home because you are coming back or maybe I will die first, but either way, one day I’ll go home to the place of no more tears and no more pain. I have felt your hug of grace, and may all who travel here today, experience a unique touch and pat of grace – a supernatural presence of comfort. Without death, we would not know the depth of you, so even in the hard pain, we lift up our praise because you are good, and you do comfort.

treasuring your embrace and comfort,

Jamie

P. S. If you are experiencing a loss, I was reminded of a post I wrote for incourage last year called, “where life and death meet.” I’d love for you to visit and hope it blesses you in your grief.