Author Archives: Karla Jo Wasion

I love Jesus and His Church. His Word is Truth, His heart is good, and His return is sure.

the mourners

stained

The word mourning is primarily used for the loss of a loved one through death. I have mourned the death of my mother, my grandfather, and my brother. I watched my dad mourn the loss of my mother, and the look of absolute lostness in his eyes was heartbreaking.

But as I type this, I think of the people I know who have suffered the loss of a child. It is an unspeakable pain that I have witnessed, but not truly felt. I spent 2 days in the hospital with dear friends of mine as they endured their daughter’s death of a heroin overdose. She was the age of my own daughter, and I cannot tell you the thoughts and emotions that were so raw in me as I walked with my friends through such a grievous time, ending with turning off the respirator. Their fear, turned to desperation, turned to resignation, and then turned to realization, was almost more than my mother’s heart could handle. I am convinced that nothing but the grace and mercy of God can touch that kind of pain.

The word comforted in the passage above means “to call to ones’ self, to call near”. The picture I get is of a Father calling His child to come to Him, drawing that child into His arms and giving the comfort of His nearness to counter the loss. I can’t help but wonder if the comfort of a God they cannot see or touch would be enough in the waves of such a devastating loss, if the comfort of anyone or anything would be enough. But my friends would testify that the nearness of God, even though felt only through the presence of His servants, is indeed a great comfort, even in that kind of loss. They would say that while they could not see or touch God during those days in the hospital, they saw and touched those He had sent to be near to them, and they were comforted.

In the midst of the losses I have suffered, both of loved ones, and the loss of love, trust and affection in relationship, my initial tendency was to withdraw and be alone with my wounds. But I learned that as I allowed myself to be drawn near to God, through worship, through His Word, and through the love of His Body, I found the comfort I desperately needed.

Blessed are those that mourn, for they will be comforted. It is His promise to us. On one hand, I would have preferred the promise that we would never mourn. But on the other hand, we would then never truly know the comfort of the nearness of God.

If you are experiencing mourning, I pray that the God of all comfort will call you near to Him, and that His nearness will be a balm for your wounded heart.

i remember…

I just turned 50 in October. (I’ll pause while the clapping subsides.) My children have left my nest and gone to a far off land (Texas). For some reason, these two events have culminated in an urge to memorialize my journey of motherhood, in case I forget. Because I just turned 50. These memories will be in random order, as the majority of my memories are these days. Because I just turned 50.

I remember…that I didn’t want to leave the hospital after my daughter was born, because it meant I would be responsible for this very little person. Plants do not live long in my house, so I was skeptical about my daughter’s chances. Fortunately, very small people are much better than plants at survival.

I remember…the sensation of a child kicking in my stomach, and never feeling more like a woman, before or since.

I remember…the smell of my baby’s neck…possibly the sweetest smell on earth.

I remember…cuddling with my son, knowing how sad I would be when the day came when he would no longer need me that way. The day came and went. I was right.

I remember…somewhere along the way I developed my “calm voice”, because it was the only voice my highly emotional and dramatic daughter would respond to. It usually worked, but not always. I would then revert to yelling, which rarely worked, but usually resulted in a moment of satisfaction at the stunned, almost frightened look on her face. A brief moment, that I cherished.

I remember…singing both of my kids to sleep with “Puff the Magic Dragon”, of which I only knew one verse, and I’m not even sure I had the words right. I sang that one verse over and over. They didn’t care. Sometimes, to ease the ache, I find myself humming that familiar tune.

I remember…my daughter’s inability to go ask for more ketchup when we were at a fast food restaurant, so my son (3 years younger) did it for her. She’s much braver now.

matchbox-groupI remember…the sound of my son’s world from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep again. Never ending sounds of cars, trucks, trains and planes as he made his matchbox vehicles come to life, complete with crashing sounds (because what’s the point of a car that doesn’t crash?). The sounds are faint now, but still there.

I remember…longing for a quiet house, and now hating that quiet.

I remember…the sound of their friends…girls upstairs in my daughter’s room, giggling, squealing, whispering. Boys downstairs…yelling, laughing, eating (never whispering). Me, sitting at the computer, smiling at the sounds of life in my house.

I remember…the knot in my stomach (that has never quite gone away) that arrived at the same time as the first driver’s license.

I remember…a cold rag always made them feel better when they were sick or hurt. They didn’t know that it was all I knew to do for them.

I remember…getting up in the middle of the night, going into their room and watching them sleep. They were teenagers. The wonder of it never left.

I remember…the day each of them left home, waiting until they were gone to have my emotional breakdown because I needed them to leave without guilt.

I remember…my son’s sick-to-his-stomach excitement on Christmas Eve. Last year. He was 20.

I remember…the almost overwhelming excitement of my kids’ stepping into their future as adults, at the same time feeling just as overwhelmed with sadness that they were stepping out of their past, on their own, without me.

I remember…that my kids are healthy, strong, brave, and have hearts that are running hard after God. And then I remember that He was there through it all…loving them, protecting them, and making sure they didn’t go the way of so many houseplants.

There’s so much more. So many moments, sounds, smells that come upon me out of nowhere. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry, and sometimes I tell God I’m sorry.

But mostly, I thank Him for the memories.