Jerry Sittser, in his open response to a grief that seeks the heart of God, wrote in A Grace Disguised, “We recover from broken limbs, but not amputation. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same.” Gaby said it a little differently, but after hearing Jerry’s words, the truth spoken by a then four year old, impacted. We had spent most of a day enjoying the sand, the sun, and the surf at the beach, and we were headed home, Gaby securely strapped in her booster seat, fanning herself with her three prized feathers, three feathers that just earlier had been part of the plumage of one or two of the pigeons and seagulls we had generously fed with scatterings of cookie crumbs. Gaining a few dropped feathers in exchange for cookie crumbs doesn’t always happen, but Gaby was delighted. Suddenly though, her spirit was melancholy, and she was concerned about the impact of loss on her feathery friends. “We need to put the feathers back,” she started, but just as quickly realized, “But, we can’t put the feathers back in...........” And I heard Jerry’s words again, “We recover from broken limbs, but not amputation. Catastrophic loss ... will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same.”
In his book, Jerry detailed his journey of grief after the deaths of his daughter, his wife, and his mother, all in one horrific car accident caused by a drunk driver. His was catastrophic loss. Amputation. Just like yours. Your story is different, but the reality of incredulous loss is still yours. Perhaps your heart, like Jerry’s, is raw with the emptiness of death. Your own child has died or your spouse. Perhaps your innocence was stolen through sexual abuse, or your own sense of worth was trampled through physical or emotional abuse. Maybe the hollowness of your heart echoes the hollowness of your home. Rooms empty that once were full. Those you have loved with depth and commitment have walked away and the taunts of their waywardness mockingly scour as the pages of the calendar turn. Loss of “normality” because your moments care for the child, the husband, the parent, whose mind or body has been broken. We can’t put the feathers back in.
We will be transformed or we will be destroyed. We will never be the same. And the choices that lead to transformation are not easily made, but the heart that cries out to God, over and over and over again, with the brokenness borne of catastrophic loss, will find sustaining, enabling, never-ending grace that loves and gives, and gives again. And we walk forward in life, holding desperately to God, while He accomplishes what my catastrophic loss left me totally incapable of. We can’t put the feathers back in, but God can still create a transformed life. Of beauty. Of purpose. Of meaning. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.
– Bev
(Related Bible reading: Psalm 34:18; Psalm 40:1-5)
