You know those moments? Those heart-wrenchingly painful moments when you hear of a tragedy that changes your life? A moment that, though it is personal to you because you knew the person, it is more personal to those you love--to those who were related to and loved that individual as only family does?
This week we had one of those moments. And I started thinking about the pain and sorrow that human beings suffer—especially those left behind—the questions, the guilt, the anger, the fear, the excruciating sadness. Oh, that sadness. My heart hurts for those I love. (It hurts for those I don’t know, too.)
Remember the shortest verse in the Bible? John 11:35? Jesus wept. Jesus wept because his friends, Mary and Martha, were mourning over the death of their brother. Jesus wept because he recognized their pain and had perfect empathy. Jesus wept, though he knew he would call Lazarus forth out of the tomb within minutes. Jesus wept, and because he did, we can know that he empathizes with us in our pain. He felt it like we feel it. And so we can turn to him for comfort.
I hope that as I see (and hear of) pain and anguish around me, I can be better at “mourning with those that mourn,” and “comforting those that stand in need of comfort.” Even if it is just to say, “I’m sorry that happened.” And I hope that when it is my turn to mourn in that deeply personal way (and that time comes to all on this earth), that those around me will offer the same.
It’s strange, though, isn’t it? That in order to feel the joy, we have to feel the pain? That darn opposition in all things. How thankful I am for it, though. I am thankful that I feel discouragement and delight and hurt and happiness and sorrow and joy. Because that means I am human. And that I am alive.
To the Larson family—all of you. We love you and are thinking of you and praying for you.
(Originally posted here.)
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Thank you--that was beautiful.
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