Anne Baxter Campbell joins us today, with a giveaway of her novel, Blessed By Time, a story about a young child (Tammy) who insists she’s seen Jesus. Her mother, Sarah, is sure her daughter was hallucinating. Her father doesn’t believe in fairy tales. It might take 2000 years to convince the adults.
What’s good about grief?
In the summers when I was young, I normally spent a month or more on my grandparent’s dairy farm. Did you know cows grieve when you take their calves from them? They’d bellow all night.
Even birds grieve. One spring I noticed a male English sparrow hopping around on the ropes of a clothesline near the end of a metal cross-pole. He’d look into the end of the pole and chirp continually. It wasn’t just for a day or two. This went on all summer.
I found out he and his sparrow spouse had built a nest inside the pole. I’m not positive what happened, but apparently the mama had laid eggs and hadn’t wanted to leave them. She probably died from heat stress, and there was no consoling papa sparrow.
I know how he felt. My spouse died two years ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop missing him.
Why do we grieve? Maybe because we’re made in God’s image.
God has grieved, too. He grieved every time His people cheated on Him. Have you read Hosea? Read it, and see if you feel the grief He expressed.
And when Jesus died on the cross―remember? The thick, heavy curtains that surrounded the Holy of Holies in the temple―they tore top to bottom. The sky went black. The earth shook.
Those of you who have lost a spouse or a child―do you relate?
At one time I thought black was worn for grieving because it was customary. When my husband died, I couldn’t wear bright colors. It wasn’t that it was customary, it was just that that’s how I felt. Black, gray, or brown suited me much better.
Why did God make us like this? Why can’t we just accept and go on? Even knowing my husband is out of misery and in such a happy place doesn’t make me stop missing him. Why?
Well, what kind of person doesn’t feel sympathy or empathy for someone who is hurt? Sociopaths, maybe, but not the rest of us. Tears are a universal language that needs no interpretation or one hundred percent agreement.
Hugs are universal therapy for hurts. Love is the perfect medicine, the ultimate healing balm. Why?
Because we’re made in God’s image. And that’s good.