Most of the time waves don't cause harm; surfers love them, right?, and beach-walkers are amazed when, after a rougher night at sea, waves bring in all sorts of shells and stones that can be collected at high tide. They may sweep away all sorts of beach play-toys into the expanse of the ocean, but unless a major tropical storm or hurricane is posing imminent danger, I'd say most people kind of enjoy watching and listening to the crash...crash...crash, against the sand and their own toes too. (My husband personally thinks that waves are essential for a good beach day, as he's not much for reading and drinking an iced tea on the beach: give him a boogie board and a high surf index!)
I'm so there, though...in a season where grief has crashed into me like ocean into earth, and there are times when I just LOATHE those crashings-into-me.
Why?
I think so much of it is because it's so random...and nothing in me is prepared for raw grief, something I'd wish upon no one because it just hurts. so. much.
A woman I met a few months ago at a spiritual retreat center told me a story about a friend's daughter who was traveling in a beautiful part of Italy and posing along a picture-perfect ledge. In an instant the ocean turned violent and a giant wave swept her from the ledge into the vastness of the sea. She was killed instantly from injuries sustained from the lashing-out of an ocean at war.
In my default mode, so much in me wants to run from the randomness of life; of grieving, to run away to somewhere warm and pretend as if nothing has happened and life will be normal again.
Those sorts of stories, of literal and emotional waves crashing into someone's life, hit much closer to home now. Months prior to Dad's death they touched me in a unique way, yet I had no context for them, really, and they scared the hell out of me. As months have gone by, however, I'm beginning to learn at a heart-level that I can't run from my circumstances, from the waves that crash into my heart with such spontaneity and the capacity of taking my breath away. Instead I must embrace them, digging deeper into the loss as it comes, because somehow the healing begins there. I must run full-force into those waves of sadness, holding tighter than ever to God's heart for those who mourn: to His heart for me, His daughter adopted through the blood of Jesus; no longer an orphan, but a child.
...and that sort of love,
that sort of gift poured out on the Cross,
is anything BUT random.
that sort of gift poured out on the Cross,
is anything BUT random.
And so I trust, step by step, leaning into Jesus as I lean into the waves:
"What have I to dread, what have I to fear,
leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace when my Lord is near,
leaning on the everlasting arms."
leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace when my Lord is near,
leaning on the everlasting arms."
