Tracing Pain

It's rather unlikely that a group of people visiting a foreign country would make it a point to stop at the national cemetery, but that's exactly where I found myself today.  Almost like a prototype of the country I currently call home, we walked among massive, opulent monuments to human power, separated by small fences and a world of difference from the other crowded "rental properties for the dead" that lie just behind them and just out of the way.  Referred to as "galleries" in Spanish, and a permanent fixture in Guatemalan cemeteries, these rental plots are essentially walls of stacked cement graves built at least half a dozen high and as long as the cemetery itself.  Space in the wall can be occupied until the rent is up, at which time the body is moved to a mass grave to make room for another.

They're bright and colorful, like so many places here, and are beautiful in a way.  But every time I see galleries, I think back to the day our Oasis family watched a tiny white coffin slowly disappear behind one of those walls of brick and mortar.  The scrape of the trowel rings in my ears and the dull ache of losing little Ashley tugs at the corners of my heart.  Her mama was still unstable in the hospital that day, and a whole group of strangers who would have become her friends had she ever met them mourned her loss together.

Today, we walked into the section of the cemetery reserved for babies, and suddenly, I stood in an endless, endless corridor of Ashleys.

I fought the overwhelming urge to walk down the middle of the entire thing weeping.  All my heart wanted to do was go back to that sad, confusing day, and unwrap the hurt, and let the tears come now that wouldn't come then, to wash it clean and offer it to God as holy.  But there were other people with me who didn't know about her, and didn't really know me, and to be perfectly honest I didn't really have the guts to be that vulnerable, so I turned my back to it and told my heart to wait.

I'm sorry I did.  I'm sorry I "kept it together" and pretended to be ok.  It was certainly less messy, but it was neither honest nor honorable; some things deserve grieving.

There is a child-mother who could not give her daughter life.
She is my little friend, and I have looked into her eyes.  She is real.  Her hurt is real.
All she wants is to hold her baby, but her arms are empty.
Her heart grew and her body laboured to make room for someone who never came.
"Abba!!  This is tragic.  It feels so broken here!  This hurts just to watch, much less to live.  This is never what you intended!  It never should have happened this way!  I know this hurts your heart …and, Abba?  It's too much for me.  I can't carry this by myself.  I need you so desperately.  I don't have the hope or healing; how can this possibly be restored?"

David spend a great portion of his time lamenting.  God has blessed us with pages upon pages of expressed sorrow in his word, and it is all holy.  Set apart as special.  Known by God, and close to his heart.  God is no stranger to lamenting.  Nor are there shortcuts for grief.  One of the places God is most present is in pain and sorrow.  Another place is in beauty and joy.  Sometimes, I think those places might be neighbors.  I think I need to realize that those neighbors are closely acquainted with each other and allow myself to visit God with them both.

Tonight, I returned to some of the sweetest words Jesus has ever spoken to my heart: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."  Beloved, when innocence dies, when your heart suffers loss, take the time to lament.  Do not cheat yourself.  Do not cheapen My grace.

When my heart has hurt the worst, God's comfort has been the sweetest.  I have known the holy beauty of grief only as deeply as I have entered into pain with my eyes turned towards Jesus and my soul folded completely into his embrace.

Have courage, trust God, and come grieve with me.  You are welcome here.  God is waiting for us.  This is holy ground.  Blessed are those who mourn, there is comfort.

For permission to weep and loads of Godly encouragement, please visit Davey Blackburn's whole blog!