I Have No Words…
Not long ago I wrote how words are a starting point, a place we can launch from to help us process and make sense of the hard things in life.
There are precipices though where words are not found.
Currently, I have no words.
In this void, every syllable seems trivial. The formation of letters to words takes too much effort. The capturing of language is too difficult because I do not know what to say. I am not even sure how I completely feel.
The grade of the climb was too steep.
It was long, exhausting, confusing, and ultimately, heart-breaking.
The elements of this world are cruel. The effect of darkness is brutal.
On this precipice, I look back at what could have been and all I can do is inhale and exhale. Even that is shaky.
At best, I am gasping. Rigid attempts to breathe in something beyond pain and disappointment.
I know it is there. Somewhere under this black fog, somewhere past the burning cold, somewhere through this sharp reversal…there will be hope.
Hope will be the guide back down the steep grade.
Hope will be a warm, soft blanket of comfort.
Hope will be the refreshing water to my inflamed heart.
Hope will be the spark that burns again.
Hope will resurrect; it will bring beauty from the ashes.
God will.
I know He will redeem even this.
In the process though, between here and then, I admit words are weak and futile. I cannot script something fancy or profound to turn this around. I cannot iterate this yet. Maybe there will be words one day. Likely, words will eventually help usher in healing. Quite possibly, knowing God, there will be a grace-filled story to share. But, for now, there is silent grit and imperfect fortitude gripping at Hope. I will cling tight with white knuckles to what I know about my good God. In even this, I am invited to lean back against the Savior and breathe, grieve, and break.
I know you have been in similar places before. Maybe, like me, you are there now. Caught in the middle of a thrashing storm that doesn’t allow time for processing; it beats relentlessly and words, thoughts, and emotions swirl in the hurricane below you. As the waters swell and the rain pelts, you stand at the top of your own precipice and feel all the metaphors: barren desert, forgotten wasteland, sinking ship, the final goodbye. In moments like these, when my words fail, I often find words from Psalms that embrace the spirit of what I would say, if I could. Maybe these words need to be borrowed for your current mountain, storm, or heartbreak.
“I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;
he heard my cry for mercy.
Because he turned his ear to me,
I will call on him as long as I live.
The cords of death entangled me,
the anguish of the grave came over me;
I was overcome by distress and sorrow.
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
“Lord, save me!”
The Lord is gracious and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
The Lord protects the unwary;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
Return to your rest, my soul,
for the Lord has been good to you.
For you, Lord, have delivered me from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling,
that I may walk before the Lord
in the land of the living.”
Psalm 116:1-9 (NIV)
I do not yet feel saved from this. I have yet to be delivered from my tears and my stumbling. It very well may be a slow walk down. But these words will be my mantra of belief in the process. Let it be yours, too. Through your own gasps for Hope, may you find the effort to whisper these truths:
Heartbreak is not my home. The Lord is gracious and righteous.
Brokenness is not my permanent lifestyle. God is full of compassion.
This is not where I lie down and die. I will walk in the land of the living.
My friend, this is where we accept the invitation to bathe in the love of the Father and breathe in Hope. We may not yet be ready to talk through this. And that is okay. It is okay to not be okay. It is okay to just sit in the feelings of it. Neither of us may be capable of formulating responses but we are capable of being present in the state of just being. So, I will be here with the Lord, leaning up against His perfect grace. I will slowly work through the despair with the God that compassionately listens. And while I rest in His arms, know that His embrace is big enough for you, too.
Until next time my friend,