Tag Archives: comfort

the walk

The trees. The houses. The concrete beneath my feet. It’s a far different landscape than the one Jesus knew when He walked this earth.  This was my random thought on a recent walk through my neighborhood. Or maybe not so random at all. Because Jesus answered my thought, turning my walk into His classroom.

The landscape is different, but He wasn’t here for the landscape. He came for people, and they have never changed. Suddenly, I found my eyes straining to see what He sees as I walked.

Perhaps living on my street is a woman caught in her sin, struggling under the weight of her guilt and shame. My ears hear songbirds and rustling leaves in the breeze…but my heart hears a voice.

“Who will go to her? Who will tell her that God doesn’t carry a rock?”

Maybe in that blue house with the white shutters is a weary mother who weeps every day for the son who has walked away from God. Perhaps her own faith is growing weak as she loses hope that he will ever return from his self-destructive ways.

“Who will go to her with comfort? Who will cry out to the Father with her, and believe with her for the return of a prodigal?”

On the street behind me is a house that a wife and mother used to live in a number of years ago. Then she committed suicide, leaving a husband and two sons to cope with the devastation. A few doors down from there is a family who lost their son to a drunk driver a few years back. It was the second child they’d lost. Several families on my block have suffered a loss of income and are struggling to hold onto their place in the neighborhood. On another street nearby is a woman with two little boys. Her husband died about 5 years ago.  Now she has a boyfriend, and we can hear the yelling late at night. Sometimes the police come, and the boyfriend leaves. A few days later he’s back, and so is the yelling.

As I look at the houses that I pass every day, I get a momentary glimpse through the eyes of Jesus at the mission field I live in.

In 2007 I heard Him ask, “who will go for Me?”. I raised my hand and went to Africa. And then I went to India.  I have yet to go next door.

And then I went for a walk through a mission field outside my front door.

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.