"Abide in Me and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me." (John 15:4 NIV)
Today is my mother’s birthday. She would be seventy-one. It’s hard to imagine because the went home at age sixty-three. In my mind, she doesn’t age anymore. Truthfully, I’ve been dreading this day all week. Ever since both parents passed, their birthday months roll in like a low fog and it’s tough to fight my way through. August is straining (Dad would have been seventy-seven on the 21st) and September is downright difficult. It all culminates on the September 23rd. Though my calendar is now grief-pocked with loss all the way around, Mom’s birthday remains the gut-punch I can’t ever seem to brace for.
I suppose the ordinary nature of her special day is deafening. I have yet to discover a significant and sustainable tradition to honor her. When we still lived in Iowa, I would drive the few hours to her graveside to wish her happy birthday. Try as I might, I never failed to water her plot with hot tears. The dam I’d been bravely building would wash away and I’d drive home a bit lighter, even if my eyes were puffy with effort. Perhaps that’s the problem now: it’s too long of a commute to Odebolt and her death feels too far back to keep crying about, but truthfully, sometimes I do. Her birthday feels like a forgotten holiday from a forbidden culture, but I can’t help but have tears well up when I write the date. Eight years have marched over my life since her loss and every September, I’m still not over it. (She’d probably be honored.)
Though I still ache when autumn hits, my God remains gracious. The Bible app opened with this scripture this morning: it felt like a divine acknowledgement of my half-mast flag. As my readers know, I choose a word each year. And the year Mom went home, my word was ‘abide’. The margins around John 15 are filled to the edges with insights the Holy Spirit whispered in that blackout of loss. One in particular stands out today.
“To abide is to survive.”
This morning, while Mom is surely whooping it up in heaven with a party in proportion to her personality, I am quietly accepting the gift of perspective from my loving Savior. I can remember those days of white-hot hurt. I recall forcing myself to take my pain to into His presence. I abided when I would rather have ran away. I stayed in the word through the worst waves of grief. In the thick fog of loss I locked my grip on to the One who is always ever holding me. Well-practiced with the passage of time, this pattern of abiding has become second nature. This faith in the dark is intrinsic to who I am today. I learned just this week, the Hebrews call it emunah: “an innate condition, a perception of truth that transcends rather than evades reason. Quite contrary, wisdom, understanding and knowledge can further enhance true emunah.” (chabad.org)
The habits I learned while my mother was dying have sustained me ever since.
The unlikely truth is that we never grieve alone. Oh how the enemy tries to convince us otherwise! Yet our Immanuel is ever with us, weeping all the while. Abiding is not just the key to surviving, but also to thriving again after the loss. A life apart from Christ cannot survive, let alone produce fruit. But when we come close in our angst, by the Lord’s mercy and might, He is able to take the most acute pain points in our story and miraculously transform them for His glory.
So on this hot and dry September day: when everyone else is blissfully unaware of my aching heart, I will keep on abiding. I will keep practicing the habit that has sustained me since the moment the doctor uttered the word cancer, the habit that held me through her hospice and her graveside and every wave of grief that has washed up on my shore thereafter. I suspect I will be abiding until it’s my turn to pack up and leave this weary place myself. And then, September 23rd will be returned to it’s former festivity and all my abiding will culminate in a very happy reunion!
"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful servants. Truly I am Your servant, Lord, I serve You as my mother did. You have freed me from my chains." (Psalm 115:16 NIV)
When we realize that things are precious, we refuse to waste them. God, in His goodness and mercy, does marvelous things even amidst our most miserable moments. The marvelous gift I received through the loss of my mother is the art of abiding. I will continue to treasure this gift until the day my faith becomes sight.
Lord, we don’t like loss. And yet, today, we can identify the invitation to abide amidst the things we cannot understand. What a gracious and loving God You are: You give and take away in the same season. You tend to our souls even as we endure the affects of the Fall firsthand. Your Immanuel nature is incredibly evident when our lives are torn open. You are close to the brokenhearted. May the brokenhearted come close to You. Give us grace as we grieve, even when they are old scars tore open anew. Heal us with Your presence and perspective. Whisper the promises of heaven loud and often enough to pierce through our pain again. Grant us the tenacity to keep abiding even when our grip is giving out. Hold us close and hold us tight as we continue to trust in You. Amen.
**written September 23, published at a later date.