THE GRIEF TRAIN

   I can hear the whistle in the distance. The sound is surreal and haunting. The mist is heavy,  and I know the train is coming even though I cannot see its form. I want to leave, but I know I have to wait. My heart knows it is better to turn and live in this moment. Now is what I have, and focusing on that approaching train will only steal precious time from me now. So I turn and smile, and I love those with me now.

   Sometimes I don’t hear the whistle or notice the tracks, but eventually, I look into the distance, and I know it’s coming. “Lord, do  I have to get on the train?” “Is there another way to travel in this season?” He does not answer, and I know that is the answer. Yes. I will have to get on at some point and time. 

    I don’t have a schedule to know when it will arrive or what the exact route will be. I may see the smoke of the engine today or tomorrow, or the day after that. It may be weeks or months, or years from now. But I know this. I will be boarding. Others are always on the train, yet we will not always see one another or know what loss brought the train to the station. 

   Being the list writer and planner, I ask how long I will have to ride. I want to know if I can get off and do some sightseeing, even though I know I’ll have to board again. I want to go somewhere far away from the station, but no matter where I go, the train will stop for me. 

   Earlier this year, I facilitated a book group. Our book choice was All the Feels by Elizabeth Laing Thompson. She identifies three types of feelers: the big feeler, the steady feeler, and the reluctant feeler. I can empathize with others' heartache and pain as a big feeler. This has proven to be a training ground, both relationally and emotionally. I’ve been given a gift in having this tender heart. I’ve been told that I feel safe and that keeping things to myself comes naturally. The downside is forgetting it is not my responsibility to carry the heartache and burdens of others. I know this, yet I have to remind myself again and again and again.

   Jesus is the man of sorrows. “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. Isaiah 53:1 

    The prophet Isaiah foretold the coming of the Messiah. He would be the man of sorrows. In Matthew 26:38; Then He said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” Just one verse over, he finds Peter, James, and John sleeping. In verse 40, Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

   My flesh is weak. I do not want to see or hear the grief train coming. I do not want to board the train. Not now, today, or ever. It doesn’t matter what direction it approaches. Personal health or relational challenges. A wound of rejection by a family member or the betrayal of a friend. A tragic natural disaster far away. Right now, the people of Maui are desperate. Their homes and this beautiful island are burning. They have nowhere to go, and it is not within their power to make it stop. There is grief, deeper than anything I have personally experienced, yet my heart aches for them. 

   I have aging family members and friends. This is life. Our bodies wear out, and physical death comes to us all. I carry grief today, knowing what tomorrow will bring. Where can I go and escape the reality of this hard place I find myself? 

   There is a place. A safe place free of the pain and grief of loss. Psalm 139: 7-12 provides the answer; “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

   So today, when I carry the losses and grief of others, I will enter into the presence of our God. Our God of all comfort, who sent His Son, the man of sorrows, to carry my burdens and yours. Jesus suffered for my sake. He rescued me from the separation of God's presence. He made it possible for me to call His Father, mine. In this life and the eternal life to come.

   Yes. The grief train will come. Count on it. When it does, and the train is long, or when I sense its future arrival, those of us who love and follow Christ have a place to find comfort. 

   My prayer is to remember. I will experience grief. I will weep, and I will mourn. I will remember that I am never alone. I have a Father of all comfort. With the comfort I have been given, I will comfort others. 

Who can you comfort today?

Anne on: Aug 21st, 2023 08:45pm

The phrases, "your hand will guide me" and "your right hand will hold me fast" stood out to me. I recently read, Numbers 11:23, ..."Is the Lord's arm too short?..." His hands, at the end of His arms, reaching us, guiding us, holding us! Nothing is impossible for Him! Thank you, Jenn!

kathleen sly on: Aug 14th, 2023 07:22pm

This had me intrigued and hooked immediately! I absolutely love the visual and eminent return of the train. This is brilliantly done and incredibly insightful, Jenn. I love it!

Becky on: Aug 14th, 2023 03:50pm

This is deep, personal, comforting, and encouraging all at the same time.