Facing the Deadness Because He Lives

I found this piece dated early January 2012. It’s the culmination of what I thought were just crazy, busy months back to back with no time and I’d find myself sitting in random places washed in waves of sadness, and then came to a head when the baby I wasn’t expecting to be carrying died not long after the lines turned pink.

Unsure of what to think or feel or do and not expecting a second miscarriage (on some level I made an unofficial pact with God that it was a one time thing), I packed up my grief for another, more convenient day. It was Christmas time, which met our family with 6 weeks of traveling to visit family and friends.

This was the first time I came up for air.

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I felt today more than I have in a long while. Maybe it was the frigid water, the salty air or the gold specks of hope in the sand.

Something ran alive in me today. Like the blood picked up speed and began flowing through my veins again. I laughed. Honest, true, can’t hold back laughed.

It was beautiful. I felt free, happy even. I felt that moment.

The deadness, the waves of sadness that seems to pervade my life these days was banished, even if just for a moment, by the glowing, glistening sun.

Life bubbled up like a new spring in a drought. Heaviness lifted, and for a moment I could see out of the fog. I need more moments like that. Moments to remind me I’m still alive. The kind that leave you deeply satisfied.

After we came home, I wiggled my wrist from the tangle of bracelets–the one’s that remind me of who I am and who He is. And for some reason, standing in front of the closet with no doors, I hear an old hymn I can remember singing at Mawmaw’s church.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.

Because He lives, all fear is gone.

Because I know He holds the future, 

And life is worth the living, just because He lives!

And while I usually think of this song as some cheesy Southern tradition to end service with hands linked across the pews, I know it’s true. And I know even in the fog and the tears that won’t fall and the pain—He lives.

That hasn’t changed. He lives, so I can face tomorrow. That doesn’t mean tomorrow is rainbows and sunshine, but Hope is alive even when I feel dead.

“Life is worth the living, just because He lives!” Now that feels hard to say. He lives, but what when life doesn’t feel like living?

‘Fall into Him,’ I hear whispered, ‘Trust His life, not yours.’

 

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2 thoughts on “Facing the Deadness Because He Lives

  1. My mom used to sing that song the “The Trio” — a group of church ladies from my childhood church. This brought back a great memory of them standing up front of our little congregation. It really is a great song.

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