There’s finality to death. Or at least there was.

The heaviness of grief is almost unbearable. It zaps every bit of emotional and physical strength we have. The feeling of loss and shock can strike us at the very heart of who we are. There are times when comfort is fleeting and distant. Grief hurts.

Until death has been experienced, one can’t really explain loss. People we have loved were here, now they’re gone. We saw them recently, now we cant. And all the things we had hoped to say, time we had hoped to spend, laughter we had hoped to enjoy, is gone. Only memories remain.

The sudden shock of the passing of a family member, a dear friend, or even a celebrity, can take us completely to our knees. We don’t understand. Why did this happen to me? There are criminals and worthless people still alive, why did God have to take them?

People who claim to be able to speak to the dead offer some folks a glimmer of hope. They tell these folks that “all is well, things are great here”, “I can see you, I’m here with you.” But, truthfully, they are not. Wherever they are, they aren’t here. And that’s why we hurt.

Certain segments of society glorify death, giving details of the horrific in song and legend. It sells records, tattoos, art, and just about anything with a skull on it.

But it’s difficult. I’ve lost my dad, my brother, and grandparents, friends, and friends’ family. Today, I grieve over a stillborn baby.

While the separation of death is painful, we who follow Jesus have hope. We hope in the reality of his conquer of death. It is his victory over death that brings us comfort in the certainty of death.

Sadly, death is certain. Our world has been dealt a severe blow with sin. But it is not the final blow. We have hope. And while we may not be able to escape the surety of death, we can grieve in the arms of one who has tasted it, and is no longer dead.

So grieve. Grieve with all that you are. Feel the pain, know the hurt. But know you are not alone. The one who died a brutal death know how you feel. Not only did he feel the pain of the death of a close friend, he died. But he didn’t stay that way.

He. Is. Alive.

Most days are pretty good. But lately, I feel like I’ve been trying to talk myself into life. Daily I try to convince myself that things are getting better, dream on… past the darkness, the heaviness that seems to be one step ahead of me. I feel like a past his prime club fighter. Every day is a fight, and it’s like I’m getting my ass kicked. Busted ribs, broken nose, eye swollen, and it feels like I’m always moments away from throwing in the towel.

These days are not uncommon. They have been regular events for a few years. I learned to keep them to my self, hide the fact that I was having to make myself smile at folks, be in a good mood, and act like my life was okie dokie. I’d lose it from time to time. Quick outburst of anger. Usually aimed at someone that had no idea. Hey, we got a pill for that. it will level you out.

But, most days are pretty good.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive than when I was teaching. Hitting that vein while guided by the Holy Spirit is intoxicating. Seeing Him open hearts and eyes to life change, it was amazing. There was something honorable about that.

This whole deal does not look anything like I thought it would. Waiting for something to breakthrough and give some type of inspiration, some kind of direction, some kind of passion. Moments of clarity were fleeting, and all of a sudden moments turned into days that turned into months that have turned into years, and the realization that I cannot do this.

No one puts more pressure on me than me. No one is as critical of me than me. These are not good traits to have while taking meds to keep from freakin out. So, I’m stable, but with no structure, the mind has tendency to wander. Distracted by thoughts of basic things, temperature, chrome, technology, what is that sound, and before I know it, I’ve stared at a screen for 3 hours. I need a job.

The dark night of the soul. It’s not that I doubt my faith, nor my God, but my prayers are like spitting out bricks that build a wall of separation, desperately scratching at the brick until the nails bleed. I cry out… Will you leave me here to wander aimlessly through this desert? Will you not rescue me from this pit? Will you not comfort your child? Must I remain here to wallow in my own failure? Don’t you know I need a job? Are you listening? Where are you?

Where else can I go? You alone have the words of life. None the less, I will trust you.

Most days are good. Just not today.