The last several days have been difficult. Really, really difficult. The aftermath of visitations, endless pound cake, and seas of black have left me overwhelmed and ragged. I know I should say I feel overwhelmed with people's kindness, and I do, but today I am left wanting to avoid most human interaction. I won't let myself be completely emotional around others, and today has been my first slice of solitude since I received the bad news. Therefore, today has been the most tearful day I've had. But today has also been a day of learning what comfort looks like. Being a Christian does not make me numb to loss or blindly happy in the midst of hardship. I don't believe God promises that I will always be happy, and I don't believe He commands that I should always be happy. Rather, to feel the full weight of sin in the world I will be sad and I will hurt. Never being sad would be ignoring reality. However, I do believe God calls me to be joyful in every situation because my joy is rooted in Him, not in my circumstances. God is constant; therefore, my joy can be constant.
I was reminded of this truth today as an instrumental version of a Natalie Grant song floated through the Christmas district of Hobby Lobby. I'm not generally a Natalie fan, but her song "Held" took on new meaning when I recognized the melody and sang the words to myself. I stopped my rummaging through the faux holly berries when I realized how much the message spoke to my current situation. I stopped and I cried in Hobby Lobby amid twinkle lights and jolly Santas and giant red bows. Through the song, God reminded me that He doesn't promise a perfect life free of heartache, but He does promise to be present through that heartache. He promises to hold His children. He promises to be their strength. That's what I felt more fully today--God holding on when I had nothing. Feeling His complete hold freed me to experience the full sorrow of my Uncle's absence. I didn't have to be strong anymore because I knew God was strong for me.
Another way God has ministered to me over the weekend is through 2 Corinthians 4:7-12:
"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you."
This passage is a huge chunk to chew, and I won't delve into it as deeply as it deserves. However, I am exponentially encouraged by the fact that although I am imperfect in many ways, and although my body has been decaying since my birth, God has blessed me with the glorious knowledge of His Son becoming Man. God delights in putting this bright truth in broken, earthen vessels. His truth and power and love shine despite, and because of, my brokenness. This passage makes me think of dying in a different way. Yes, I am dying every day, as is everyone, but in this dying I am being made more alive in Christ. My dying body resembles the death of sin and the death of Death that Christ accomplished on the cross and through His resurrection. I am dead to sin but alive in Christ. I am not under sin's power any longer, but I am free to become more Christlike everyday. Because of Jesus I have hope that one day Death's ultimate death will be manifested, and all will see the True King in His full majesty. What a day that will be.
So though losing my uncle hurts, and though I know I will encounter much more sorrow in the years to come, I know that pain doesn't have to paralyze me. I have in Christ a treasure more powerful than any deadly scheme. To this hope I must cling, for I have no other.
And as He stands in victory
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine -
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.
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