"Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by?
Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow..."
Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow..."
Lamentations 1:12
It's probably hard to believe but, as a child, I sometimes behaved badly.
Okay, maybe that's not the stretch I'd like it to be. My brother and I could be pretty obnoxious with each other, and toward each other. And long stretches in the car could serve to amplify our ability to get on everyone's nerves. I remember in particular one day where we had been up to our usual miserable antics, heedless of the warnings from Mom and Dad, when Dad suddenly pulled the car over at the end of our street and said, "Okay, BOTH of you: OUT!" In shock, we did as we were told, the door closed and they drove off. (Keep in mind that we lived out in the country; this portion of our road was all fields as far as you could see.) We were left to walk home the remaining half a mile; an opportunity to burn off the extra energy we had previously been expending in an enclosed space ... and a chance to think.
I remember vividly the feelings my 12-year-old self experienced as I watched the car drive away. I felt a sense of abandonment and loss, even while I knew my parents hadn't stopped loving me and my then-10-year-old brother was right beside me. I felt some distress at being so far from home, even while I knew I had ridden my bike to and past this very place multiple times. I felt like no one cared, as the occasional car drove by and the occupants either stared at us or ignored us, even while I knew they would have stopped to help if we were in serious trouble. There was a repeated feeling of being left behind.
Those feelings have become familiar once again.
In the past couple of weeks, my wife and I have finally summoned the emotional fortitude to design and select a monument to be erected at the gravesite. We were able to purchase a plot for ourselves right beside David. As I mentioned to a good friend, it is a strange thing to see your own name on a tombstone. But I found it especially hard to see my dear son's name and dates there. Really brings it home that much more.
At times I wonder what's appropriate for me to feel, or if "appropriate" even has any relevance in this context. Sometimes it "feels" all wrong; life is going on around me, but I'm still standing at the side of the road. And this time, David is in the car that I'm watching disappear down the road. I feel a little bit left behind. And at times, it feels like I'm being stared at or ignored by the passersby; I imagine they ask, "Who is that?" and hear "Oh that's the man whose son has died."
After David died, there were times when it felt so wrong that life just carried on for other people, like everything should stop for a while to recognize this great tragedy. I wanted to shout, "Don't you understand my son has died?!?" And, to be completely honest, I still feel a lot of that. Yes, I'm carrying on. Yes, I show up every day at work and do my job. Would it make sense to say, however, that often it feels as if everyone else's life is in colour, and mine is just black-and-white?
I know it's not really like that. I'll get a text from a friend every now and again, or from my cousin, saying "We're still praying for you" or "You were on my heart today". Where would we be without dear friends like you?
And there are moments when it's good again, right again. Our little Charlotte, our beautiful grand-daughter, brings such joy to our hearts! And there is such healing in being around her lively self, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, feeling her hugs and kisses. I'm so grateful to God for her, for the joy she brings to our life, for the little piece of David we can hold onto and treasure in her.
But the surprise moments still catch me unaware. Today my wife and I decided to go to a Craft Show at the local college. We drove in, not really knowing which building it was being held in. We parked in the lot and climbed aboard the shuttle bus. And then, as it turned down one of the side streets, I realized where we were going. It was right beside a set of residences where we had gotten David a short-term sublet, so he wouldn't be on the street. That hadn't worked out well at all, and a short time later, he was evicted. The memories rolled over me like a tsunami and I fought to hold back the tears. Judy squeezed my hand and said, "You too?"
As I read the account of Jesus' crucifixion, there were people rushing about all around, trying to prepare for the Sabbath. They might have been hurrying to market to buy last-minute groceries. They might have been travelling to someone's house to share the Sabbath meal with them. There were things to do, to finish up, that day, because no work could be done come evening. And Jesus hung on the cross, not for His own sins, but for yours, for mine, for David's, for Charlotte's, for the sins of the people at the foot of the cross waving their fists, hurling their insults, for the sins of those who hurried by, paying no mind because there was so much still to do.
Did Jesus' heart ache for someone to just stop and take notice, to weep as He hung between heaven and earth, bearing the brutal and indescribable punishment for our sin? Did God the Father look around for someone to appreciate the immense sacrifice that He and His beloved Son were making so that mankind could be redeemed? "Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like My sorrow" could be words that either of Them could have spoken.
I might feel abandoned at times, I might feel alone at times, but if I'm completely honest, I know I have never been alone, never been abandoned, never been forsaken in this journey of grief. Jesus cried out from the cross "My God! My God! Why have you forsaken Me?"; He did so because He was bearing the punishment that I deserved, and God had to turn His back on His own Son because of it.
And because I have placed my faith and trust in the One who did all that for me, because I am "in Christ", I will never experience that.
Jesus was forsaken so that I would never, ever be.
In the past couple of weeks, my wife and I have finally summoned the emotional fortitude to design and select a monument to be erected at the gravesite. We were able to purchase a plot for ourselves right beside David. As I mentioned to a good friend, it is a strange thing to see your own name on a tombstone. But I found it especially hard to see my dear son's name and dates there. Really brings it home that much more.
At times I wonder what's appropriate for me to feel, or if "appropriate" even has any relevance in this context. Sometimes it "feels" all wrong; life is going on around me, but I'm still standing at the side of the road. And this time, David is in the car that I'm watching disappear down the road. I feel a little bit left behind. And at times, it feels like I'm being stared at or ignored by the passersby; I imagine they ask, "Who is that?" and hear "Oh that's the man whose son has died."
After David died, there were times when it felt so wrong that life just carried on for other people, like everything should stop for a while to recognize this great tragedy. I wanted to shout, "Don't you understand my son has died?!?" And, to be completely honest, I still feel a lot of that. Yes, I'm carrying on. Yes, I show up every day at work and do my job. Would it make sense to say, however, that often it feels as if everyone else's life is in colour, and mine is just black-and-white?
I know it's not really like that. I'll get a text from a friend every now and again, or from my cousin, saying "We're still praying for you" or "You were on my heart today". Where would we be without dear friends like you?
But the surprise moments still catch me unaware. Today my wife and I decided to go to a Craft Show at the local college. We drove in, not really knowing which building it was being held in. We parked in the lot and climbed aboard the shuttle bus. And then, as it turned down one of the side streets, I realized where we were going. It was right beside a set of residences where we had gotten David a short-term sublet, so he wouldn't be on the street. That hadn't worked out well at all, and a short time later, he was evicted. The memories rolled over me like a tsunami and I fought to hold back the tears. Judy squeezed my hand and said, "You too?"
As I read the account of Jesus' crucifixion, there were people rushing about all around, trying to prepare for the Sabbath. They might have been hurrying to market to buy last-minute groceries. They might have been travelling to someone's house to share the Sabbath meal with them. There were things to do, to finish up, that day, because no work could be done come evening. And Jesus hung on the cross, not for His own sins, but for yours, for mine, for David's, for Charlotte's, for the sins of the people at the foot of the cross waving their fists, hurling their insults, for the sins of those who hurried by, paying no mind because there was so much still to do.
Did Jesus' heart ache for someone to just stop and take notice, to weep as He hung between heaven and earth, bearing the brutal and indescribable punishment for our sin? Did God the Father look around for someone to appreciate the immense sacrifice that He and His beloved Son were making so that mankind could be redeemed? "Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like My sorrow" could be words that either of Them could have spoken.
I might feel abandoned at times, I might feel alone at times, but if I'm completely honest, I know I have never been alone, never been abandoned, never been forsaken in this journey of grief. Jesus cried out from the cross "My God! My God! Why have you forsaken Me?"; He did so because He was bearing the punishment that I deserved, and God had to turn His back on His own Son because of it.
And because I have placed my faith and trust in the One who did all that for me, because I am "in Christ", I will never experience that.
Jesus was forsaken so that I would never, ever be.
