The day Bob went up (it took me years to say the die word and passed away seemed not to say enough), the Lord hung back to talk with me, the one left behind. 

I accepted His invitation to walk with Him. I had no power or wisdom of my own to approach such a crushing loss. I knew His power, and I trusted my heart to His wisdom.

His words that sunk deep into my heart weren’t offering supernatural boundaries to my grief in exchange for some worked up piety of my own. His only promise was to be with me in it as He had walked this sorrowful way before me. I was encouraged to keep Him in front of me and follow Him, nearly close enough to touch, on this path.

I was desperate for His gentleness and compassion. I wasn’t ready to face the big life lessons I expected Him to lay on me. I had been eager for those lessons as I daily opened my Bible. But not today. Not now. 

Today, the balking Israelites that needed to be weaned from Egypt were not my tutors. I didn’t need deep convicting sermons, inscrutable prophecies, or parables to ponder today. My sensibilities were otherwise occupied with being overwhelmed. But I did open the Psalms. They became my words of comfort that day.

In the next many months, I explored my messy, wrenching places of grief. I wrote from outside myself and from the inside, all of it punctuated by staccato prayers. The Bible was His voice guiding me along this narrow and lonely road. 

The Lord didn’t lay this dark process of grief on me only to step back while I spun through the cycles of it until time dried my tears. The truth is that He met me where I was in the Valley of the Shadow and was never out of sight. He led me through to His restoration while being an ever-present help, counselor, teacher, defender, and the lifter of my head when I cried out to Him from my broken heart.

Give it the time it needs, and He will do it. 

HOUSEKEEPING. When I am speaking of the Lord, I always capitalize His pronouns. I want my train of thought to be clear between he/him (Bob and other awesome men like my brother, father, or Bob’s close friends) and He/Him (God/the Lord).

My thoughts often are directed to you (the reader), not to be confused with the conversational You that I use when talking with God or praying to Him.

When I cry out to God in those short, imploring conversations, begging for meaning or answers from His heart to mine–they will be in a different type. If I quote someone (or scripture), I’ll use “quote marks” or italicized type.