“As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn’t touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I just didn’t stop.
The substance of grief is not imaginary. It’s as real as rope or the absence of air, and like both those things it can kill. My body understood there was no safe place for me to be.“ (The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver)
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I love the way that this woman writes. My body understood there was no safe place for me to be. That is grief in its truest, most potent form.
I am finding in the most concrete way of my entire life that there is absolutely no hope apart from Jesus.
This is not a “Christian blog” in the same way that some are – I tend to write more about my hair and my bras and my couch than I do about my faith. I know that a lot of you reading this do not believe the same things that I do, and let’s be honest – talking about pop culture and music and whatever tomfoolery I got into over the weekend is usually more fun than a bible study.
But in the midst of it all, and above it all, I believe in Jesus – in redemption, in healing, in grace. As much as my hesitant heart fights it, I believe that God loves us and has good plans for our lives. That is my bedrock.
So when I hit rock bottom, standing on that bedrock is a good place to be.
The grief is still there, and the substance of it is so real that I’m afraid it will strangle me – but grace is flowing downhill, and pooling in the darkest places of my life. It is taking on the weight of my pain, lifting the burden from my head, and moving me forward.