Psalm 30:11 “You turned my wailing into dancing: you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”
On July 2, 1997, I became a mother without her daughter. On July 4, 2018, I became a daughter without her mother. I am forever grateful that I was with both of these two as they entered into the arms of the Lord. As I continue to process the loss of my mom, I have found myself revisiting the time I spent with both of them as they transitioned into Heaven. Each loss is so different. I felt with my daughter, I was not only grieving my past, but my future. The day she was born changed who I was. She became my top priority. My mom has had a constant presence in my life since the day I was born. Both of these two have left a huge imprint on my life. Death is always such a hard thing to grasp.
When I was in the hospital with my daughter, the reality that confronted me when I walked in her room sent me to the floor. I spent that day trying to come to terms with what the doctor told us. My daughter was brain dead and the noise coming from the machines was the very thing that was keeping her body alive. I spent that day wandering the hall, and then back to her room, trying to find a place to hide. Yet I always found myself pulled back to where my daughter was, hoping she would open her eyes and we would all go home together. The strength it took for us to silence those noisy machines amazes me how we made that decision. I never thought I would have to bury my daughter.
My mom has been in my life from the very beginning of my being knitted inside her. Her voice was the first voice I heard. She was 89 years old. She and my dad were married for 70 years. They had seven children, 24 grandchildren, and 19 great-grandchildren. They had such a full life. They also had many of the heartaches that happen in life, especially living for 89 years. As I sat in the hospital and slowly watched her fragile body loosen her grip on life, the joy of the Lord was very palpable to me. She was surrounded by her loving family. We sang to her, we laughed, and told our funny crazy mom stories. I always knew one day I would have to bury her.
How I have reacted to both of these losses has taught me the need to hold on to what I know to be true even when my feelings want me to believe something else. This is what I know to be true. I believed Jesus was God’s Son, and that He died for our sins so we would have a life after death. I stood on the words of the gospel that gave me hope. I trusted He would never leave me or forsake me. I knew that somehow, some way, He could take my losses and bring good from them, even though I had no idea how.
How I have reacted to both of these losses has taught me the need to hold on to what I know to be true even when my feelings want me to believe something else. This is what I know to be true. I believed Jesus was God’s Son, and that He died for our sins so we would have a life after death. I stood on the words of the gospel that gave me hope. I trusted He would never leave me or forsake me. I knew that somehow, some way, He could take my losses and bring good from them, even though I had no idea how.
The joy of the Lord comes from these promises. These promises, when I truly believe them, give us our strength. This strength gave me the peace of releasing my mom with joy in my heart for her and what her future held. The joy of the Lord did not feel the same in the death of my daughter, but I know it was there. I had the strength to turn those life giving machines off. I walked through weeks of greeting people who were hurting for us and themselves after the death of my daughter. They needed to see me just as much as I needed to see them. The joy of the Lord to an outsider did not look joyful – it looked like mourning. I found my strength in His promises, to mourn with the hope of eternity in my future. In time, I was able to shed my sackcloth of grief and watch as I became clothed in joy.
Lord, we rejoice in Your promises that help us get through our darkest days.
