Sustained

I wasn’t sure what to think of His steadfast presence at that moment, because I had just felt His presence not even an hour prior when He came to bring my mom home to heaven. That’s right, in the ICU room, as I watched the heart monitor number start from 110 and end at 30, I felt the presence of Jesus so strongly it was like heaven had removed all barriers and I could feel the welcoming party growing with so much joy. But I did not want to feel His presence then. His presence made me angry because if He was there in the ICU with me, full of joy, then that meant He was taking mom away from me, and I didn’t want Him to do that. I wanted Him to leave and go away and never come back, if it meant I could have my mom here a little while longer with me. And how could He be so joyous at my mom coming home to heaven and overlook the daughter holding her hand and crumbling with grief? How could He take her by the hand, the same hand I was holding, and bypass my hand that was holding so tightly to hers? If anything He should’ve asked my permission first if He could take her by the hand and lead her into the gates of glory. I would’ve said no. I would’ve told Jesus to go find some other person here at the ICU to joy over and bring THAT person home, not my mother….not now, not today, not ever. But He didn’t. He took her home and led her by the hand as if I had not been standing there clinging to every confirmed heartbeat on the monitor. It was that moment that angered me, took my breath away, and left me numb but overcome with pain at the same time. So when I collapsed inside my mother in law’s guest room I did not expect that same Jesus to be waiting for me. He was the last person I wanted to bend down and hold me as I sobbed an anguished filled monologue that was both incoherent and foreign. That kind of heavy grief takes over every fiber of one’s being. It fills the vocal cords with unutterable tongues and takes over the bones and muscles with shakes and rocking motions. It unleashes every ounce of water in the body through tears, gallons of sweat, and ungodly amounts of snot. It takes over the control of one’s hands and forms them into fists beating the carpeted floor. It starts a war with one’s stomach and sends all the contents hurling out in between the cries and moans. It makes one forget all they once looked forward to so that they are willing to stay on the floor and eventually die on that floor, never moving from that spot soaked in tears. This kind of grief is ugly, intrusive, and hard to approach. But approach Jesus did. He approached me with His faithful love and gave me a safe moment in time to grieve. If I could’ve sweat droplets of blood I probably would’ve. As I was wrapping my head around what just happened at the hospital and simultaneously trying to breathe through the snot and tears mixture, I allowed myself to acknowledge His presence. In an almost fleeting nanosecond my mind sent a question like a flare gun from a stranded life raft afloat in the ocean, “How could you?” and “Why did you?” was all I could send out. It seemed even my thoughts had collapsed and could barely come together to form a proper prayer. The “How could you?” was referring to how could He be so stinking joyful at mom’s homecoming at the same time I was coming undone with tremendous grief? The “Why did you?” was referring to why did He choose to partake in celebrating mom’s homecoming instead of choosing to spare me this grief, or at the least choose to comfort me instead of being all happy sappy because his daughter had come home. Looking back I loved that Jesus didn’t require me to elaborate or fill in the blanks of where my thoughts had left off. He knew exactly what I was referring to and He read the single spaced essay I would have read to Him, if my thoughts were in any sort of working fashion, supporting my stance and view on each question. He knew my pile of evidence I would’ve given Him and He was aware of every slideshow I would’ve presented Him on my question’s behalf. He didn’t need me to formally make my case, He already knew it. In fact He already knew from Genesis 1:1 that this day atop the stairs would come. Standing from the vantage point of eternity Jesus knew in this moment He would have to gently hold me as I came unglued. He knew He would have to compassionately take the blunt of my anger mixed grief as I tried hopelessly to submit to His will while simultaneously fighting to know the answers. I didn’t get an answer that day. But one day while I was putting out Christmas decorations, some 6 weeks after mom’s passing, a feat I swore would never happen due to the mantra “life will never go on like it did now that she’s gone” playing on repeat in my head (but life does go on and things do pick back up in the rotation) I heard the Christmas lyrics, “Tidings of comfort and joy”. Immediately I paused and put down the Nutcracker themed musical box. At that moment I saw the Father’s eyes draw attention to two questions I had barely strung together weeks before. He hadn’t forgotten those two questions, although I had resigned to let them be for now.