One reason grief is so exhausting is that every step I take is on a balance beam of faith and hope.
I must navigate every necessary task without falling off.
According to one sports writer, “The balance beam is often regarded as the most difficult event in women’s gymnastics at any level of competition. At only four inches wide and four feet off the ground, there’s barely enough space for a person’s foot to fit on the beam let alone enough room to flip and dance.”
But an average competitive routine lasts only 30 to 90 seconds.
I will have to walk this narrow way the rest of my life.
Despair lies in wait on my left. One misstep and I’m lost. Down on the ground, hurting and hopeless. Doubt, guilt, anger and grief threaten to drag me into a pit so deep there’s no way out.
Delusion calls from the right.
Singing a lullaby to my wounded heart-he’s not really gone. “Can’t you feel him in the wind? See him in the clouds?” It would be so easy to just step off the rational and faithful path and embrace some fluffy facsimile of biblical truth.
The solid beam is my faith and hope in Jesus Christ.
That what He said is true.
That what He promises will come to pass.
That even though I cannot see proof of life after death, it exists and Dominic is experiencing it.
That, like David said when his baby died, “He cannot come to me, but I can go to him.”
It takes every fiber of my being to focus my will and to direct my attention to the Truth.
Many nights I fall asleep reciting Scripture. Many mornings I wake before the sun and remind myself that even in the dark, God reigns.
So when you see me and I look tired-I am.
But I wait in hope for the LORD…
We wait in hope for the LORD; He is our help and our shield.
In Him our hearts rejoice,
for we trust in His holy name.
May your unfailing love be with us, LORD,
even as we put our hope in you.
Psalm 33:20-22 NIV