We have been reminded that the world and its inhabitants can be taken away in moments.
That life itself can slip from even the strongest grasp.
And prayers aren’t promises that you’ll receive the answer you want, but that you won’t face the answer alone.
In some way, at some point, every Believer has been swept into the arms of Jesus, whether physically, spiritually, or mentally.
Praise and pain… pain and praise: each a crying eye on the face of humanity.
No one can dictate the course of grief; it cannot be measured in days or depth; its appearance is inconsistent, even if it consistently remains with us at some level.
Our capacity to love far outlasts our capacity to live in the body of bone and flesh.
In this, we are free to admit our frailties.
If we are not careful, this freedom will shoulder itself in fear more than faith, making our hearts heavy and hard.
Pain screams in the moment, but praise sings for eternity.
Sorrow bids us into spaces where we attempt to quell the void of silent rooms and vacant tables.
At times, worship can feel vapid for those left to pick up the pieces.
Yet, as we continue to stand firm in our position in Christ, we await a joyful reunion.
A thread of hope weaves itself into a new day, slowly stitching our wounds.
We mourn the loss of what was as well as the future of what we had hoped.
Eventually, praise becomes more organic as new seeds root in pastures made from life and death.
Solace accompanies us in harvesting, knowing all moments are in His hands.
For what may slip from the hands of flesh can never be taken from Christ: “I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand” (John 10:28).
Oh, sweet suffering. Pain is real, and we should not ignore it as it acknowledges how much we truly loved and love.
Oh, sweet Jesus. Praise is real, and we should not ignore it as it expresses how much we truly loved and love.
We do life and death, both in praise and pain.
Make not an idol of pain; ask Christ to show you what to put down and what to pick up.
Speak eternal life into a dying world.
Thank You, Jesus, for the time shared.
Thank You, Jesus, for the promise that “they that sow in tears shall reap in joy” (Psalm 126:5).
In the chasm of missing, we can find ourselves lost.
Lost in the world we are left in, while our loved ones are in the company of Jesus.
But may we not forget we are also in the company of Jesus. Here. Now. In this very breath.
May we rest and renew in the grasp that holds us all.
In earth, as it is in Heaven, may we be swept into the arms of Jesus.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.