Lately, there has been so much grieving going on. A few weeks ago, an attorney jumped off a building not to far from my office, during morning rush hour. Last week, the haunting footage of the Paris attacks surfaced populating global news feeds. This week, Boko Haram bombed two cities in Nigeria leaving behind devastation and an air of fear. There is grieving everywhere. Everywhere.
Grief is hard. It’s really hard. No matter how much we try, there is no escaping it. Everyone will come to a point of grief in their life. Grieving over a parent, a sibling, a child, a friend, an ex, a pet, a job, loss of opportunity, loss of time, loss of dreams and so on. Whatever the cause, grief will come.
I experienced my own grief when my youngest brother died at thirteen. I can remember the very day I received the news. I was in high school and it was two days before Spring Break. I was looking forward to getting a week off from school and visiting my brother who had been sick for a while in the hospital. As soon as, I stepped off the school bus, I saw cars. There were so many cars parked at my house. So many cars. I vividly remember seeing the cars. At that moment, I knew something was wrong. I barely turned my key in the lock, when the door opened. It was my pastor’s wife, I think. Those details are a bit muddy, but I remember it wasn’t my mom. When I walked into the living room she was sitting on the couch sobbing. She didn’t look up. Then, my dad started crying. An image I saw for the first time. My brother followed and I remained stunned. I immediately knew. My youngest brother had past away.
Since then I’ve grappled with coping with his loss. It wasn’t easy in the beginning. It never is really. But what helped me cope is my faith. That day I was surrounded by a huge family whose main commonality was our faith in Christ. For my biological family, we couldn’t help each other, because we couldn’t help ourselves. However, my church family kicked into gear and took shifts in comforting, praying, cooking, planning the funeral, driving and whatever needed to be done to get my family functioning through the grief.
It was a hard process, very hard…but the one thing I tried to focus on was my faith in believing that God, “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Has it always been easy to believe? Absolutely, not. There were days I would be completely fine and than burst into tears, because I remembered his smile. Some days I would ask, “Why do good people die so young?” I really don’t know the answer. But over ten years later, I can attest that God has healed my broken heart and bound up my wounds. Is there a scar? Yes, of course there is. The wound however is gone. Sincerely, my scar is there to remind me of how God has helped me overcome. It also reminds me that when the wounds come, He will continue to be there to heal them. That’s His promise to us. If it’s one thing I know, God does not renege on His promises (Isaiah 55:11). He remains faithful, even when we are faithless, because He can’t deny Himself (2 Timothy 2:13). So when life happens and you find yourself grieving, because it will come, remember that He can heal your broken heart and bind up your wounds. You may not always understand His process, but He still heals. He did it for me.