Twisted by confusion and sin—
My body lay, crumbled, wearing rust
among the discarded and dispised things
of this world.
Worth. Purpose. What were those?
I was no longer useful.
Until you gathered my broken pieces
and welded my soul
into a reflection of your identity.
You gave me my wings of faith.
Now I soar with love, joy, and hope.
I shouldn’t be standing.
You’ve twisted and broken my body so many times
The count should be over.
How many knockout punches can I sustain?
As many as He allows.
You should have known you’d lose.
My manager bought the match with His life.
He already wears the crown,
King of kings and Lord of lords and I
get to share in His glory.
Belief’s amber warmth
chilled black by fear. I wonder—
Do I exist here?
Desolate nightmare
Purple bruises on repeat—
You rescued my heart.
Tender shoots of trust
sprout knowing Your faithfulness—
Nightmare crushed crimson.
Unquenchable Hope
stands beside. I emerge gold—
Revealed by evil.
Furnace of obedience
Penned before Satan’s ink dried.
Start here. In
the shivering nakedness
of not knowing but
being known. A rebirth.
Where your heartbeat
nestles under the Father’s. Listen.
His voice secures
your every anxious thought when
He calls you by name. Beloved.
Finally, you can rest in His
sovereignty.
It is now ten years, and I am reposting this blog post from 2022 because it encouraged my soul and I pray that it does yours. You may be in the desert where there seems to be no provision. What if that’s the illusion and not an oasis of water? What if all you and I need is gifted at a moments notice by a God who is not hindered by the deserts in our lives. May God richly provide for you. May the joy of his presence bubble up for your soul and you declare that He is enough for you. Amen
When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the LORD will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
Isaiah 41:17-18, KJV
What is this hidden spring that bubbles up
from the sorrow-baked cracks of my despair
and satisfies my soul with joy where
there should be only sorrow?
Tomorrow is July 1st and I should be dreading it, but I’m not.
Jonathan will be gone eight years, and for the first time I feel joy leading up to that terrible date. It is literally bubbling up and causing me to laugh out loud today.
Not in spite of my loss, not ignoring the ache of loss, but because Jesus’ presence, his plan, and his purpose far outway anything I have or will ever experience in the future. He is shaping my grief.
How do I know this?
I have been reading through the Bible this year which includes readings from both the Old Testament and New as well as a Psalm. The thread of God’s trustworthiness is there. His sovereignty over every experience, including the suicide of my son, is imprinted in every description of loss,, rebellion, redemption. Stories such as the overwhelming sorrow of Job, the prophets, David, Jesus, and his disciples. Scripture was like a golden thread of hope that, once pulled, I could see in vivid detail that God was not asleep at the wheel when Jonathan died or at any other moment in my life.
So tonight I cry out to a God who hears. I pray for you my dearest readers and friends. Don’t lose hope! I mourn with you as many of you walk through the deepest layers of grief and suffering. I lean into the Holy Spirit’s leading. Nothing is impossible for my God. Including springs of joy in the desert wasteland of a child I loved deeply dying by suicide. I don’t dread tomorrow because Jesus, I know you are there.
Lord, so many of us are dying of thirst from walking through deserts of hopeless circumstances. Help us to put our faith in your living water that never runs dry. Amen
I was planted in the parched desert of suffering.
Others scoffed at The Gardener who sows
in such unforgiving ground.
“Nothing could ever grow in that graveyard.”
They think they know better how to be fruitful.
Scattering seeds in shallow
soil of rich pleasure and ignore the weeds
that will one day choke them out.
But joy grows in this barren land
chosen for me.
I can’t depend upon myself to sustain.
I look to Him for rain.
Lean into His whispering wind for understanding.
Open my heart to the sunshine of His love,
Hope in the fruit I cannot yet see.
Faith and trust grow here.
I know that I know, The Gardener loves reaping a harvest.
Even in deserts
There are reminders that He is near.
You hollowed out a cleft where I can hide
when the battle without and within dismantle me.
Provision appears, angels minister, and I
hear the strengthening rumbles of your whisper.
I am not alone.
If I reach back to touch the dogeared image of who you were,
I forget to take pictures of who you are now with God.
I acknowledge I want you here today. Concrete.
Real. Healthy. Vibrant.
You are all those things with Him.
He is my promise, beyond the years of loss, that nothing
Is wasted.
Heartache isn’t the end of my story.
So, I keep my eyes fixed on the horizon. Anticipate
God’s goodness in my pain.
And God shapes the sunrise of hope—without you.
I pause.
Breathe.
Remember you beyond the grave.
Joy still comes. Joy comes!
I snap a fresh picture of you by living motherhood forward.
Make new memories, not despite missing who you were,
but because I live, remembering you
With Jesus.
Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will.
Matthew 10:29, KJV
Not even a sparrow falls without God’s knowledge and we are more precious than they. Oh, one day, I pray that I embrace this truth with the depth and security of one who trusts God no matter what I experience in this life. I’m not there yet. As the poem reflects this was a tear-streaked day. I have witnessed God’s care over and over, but I still don’t understand why he allowed Jonathan to die by suicide. The bottom line, is I just want Jonathan here.
I wanted your heart to heal from
the world’s unrelenting fists of hatred.
I tried to shield you, but their blows penetrated
to marrow. Broke bone and spirit without pity. They
meant to crush you—rob identity.
Rearranged home until
you no longer recognized love or belonging.
I thought if I cradled your heart
enough with my love, that somehow, someway
you’d emerge from despair.
But, control
of your rhythm was never mine. Your
soul was formed and shaped by a God
who knit you together in my womb.
On my knees I plead that His will be
done in your life—from beginning to end.
“DO SOMETHING!” I screamed at a
God who was not deaf to my desperation.
He comforted. He still comforts,
but I will not pretend to understand
why He didn’t rescue you.
Your future—my future—was never
mine to determine. And I pray
one day I walk this path knowing
that not even a sparrow falls to the earth
without God’s knowledge.
Your life mattered, and heaven
mourned you even deeper than I.
You may have sparrows who have fallen in your life. Your mourning may be deep and waves of emotions swamp you. Courage! May the promise of God’s care sustain you, even when the feelings simply are not there. You are precious to God. Your loved one was and is precious to a God who was willing to suffer with and for you. As you think about Easter consider the following:
Lord, this sorrow is too great. Carry it for me. Your tenderness and mercy towards my loved ones exceed my own and not one of them falls to the earth without your knowledge and mourning. Amen
Rob’s Kids is an excellent resource for children who have lost a parent.
A God I Did Not Form
My energy is all spent up
on belief in a God Invisible.
I die in this furnace of pride, while
Pagans laugh at you. All because I did not
shape you into what is acceptable. This
God who claims to be the sole
provider of all things good in
my life. A slave who should
bow down to idols rather than
kneel in prayer—alone— in awe of you,
while the whole world pushes there
shiny gods on me.
Look up, child.
While flames lick around this
fragile form, you take my hand
in your callused carpenter hands
and hold me in the head-turning unexpected.
I sing, Holy, Holy, Holy when my faith should be singed
in the smoke of my humanness,
because you are not a God
I forged with my own hands.
If the God whom we serve exists, then He is able to deliver us from the blazing fiery furnace and from your hand, O king. But even if He does not, let it be known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden statue you have set up.” (Daniel 3:17-18 BSB).
The book of Daniel has always been one of my greatest fascinations. How do children, taken captive by a cruel king, cultivate faith willing to stand in a fiery furnace, face a den of lions, and eighty years as a captive? I want that kind of faith! Knowing the character of God takes reading scriptures, putting it into practice, confessing sin, and a willingness to be open to God’s will come what may. I encourage you this week to:
Lord, I did not form you with my own hands, you formed me. Keep me in the flames so that I may never forget my dependency upon your will alone. Amen
For Further Reading: When God Hits the Pause Button in Our Faith
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/