I originally posted this in June 2011. But I wanted to post it again today because it's what I'm praying for today. A few blessed moments of peace for those who feel like they won't last the day without them. For the families of the victims in Newtown, CT, and for the survivors and first responders.
I'm no more an expert on grief than is every person suffering the beautiful and awful human experience. But I know enough about it to know what I want for people when I hear they are grieving.
There are moments so pure and tender that I believe they are reserved for those in pain. These are the things that I pray will be in plenty when a grieving soul is ready to receive them. It could be a long time before any of these moments are meaningful because the first gift God gives those who are grieving is absence of feeling. A numbness and distorted vision that lasts long enough that a moment of clarity will not destroy you. Once the numbness wears off, even for a brief moment, these are the things I pray a grieving soul will know.
~The moment, after hours or days or only minutes of downcast eyes and knit brows, that you can open your eyes, look straight ahead and you feel the lines fall away as if someone has just smoothed your brow.
~A fragrant breeze that cools your skin and dries the hot tears.
~Looking into another's eyes and not finding pity.
~A gentle embrace from one who knows well enough to leave trite comfort, and even words full of wisdom, for a day other than today.
~The freedom to weep in public without shame.
~That one day, in a future that will feel like an eternity away, you will hear in the foreign sound of your own laughter, the redemption of what you lost.
I'm no more an expert on grief than is every person suffering the beautiful and awful human experience. But I know enough about it to know what I want for people when I hear they are grieving.
There are moments so pure and tender that I believe they are reserved for those in pain. These are the things that I pray will be in plenty when a grieving soul is ready to receive them. It could be a long time before any of these moments are meaningful because the first gift God gives those who are grieving is absence of feeling. A numbness and distorted vision that lasts long enough that a moment of clarity will not destroy you. Once the numbness wears off, even for a brief moment, these are the things I pray a grieving soul will know.
~The moment, after hours or days or only minutes of downcast eyes and knit brows, that you can open your eyes, look straight ahead and you feel the lines fall away as if someone has just smoothed your brow.
~A fragrant breeze that cools your skin and dries the hot tears.
~Looking into another's eyes and not finding pity.
~A gentle embrace from one who knows well enough to leave trite comfort, and even words full of wisdom, for a day other than today.
~The freedom to weep in public without shame.
~That one day, in a future that will feel like an eternity away, you will hear in the foreign sound of your own laughter, the redemption of what you lost.
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