Baptized Grief & Holy Lament

I want to believe grief is graceful, flowing like a majestic river, pouring out of my soul like a symphony. 

My grief is a river and it is full of grace, but the river is sometimes rough. The tide ebbs and flows, from still to steady to rough, bold, winds. It winds down and round and rushes through the hills. Then calm, serene, trickling over pebbles, twists and turns and churns over course boulders, cascading down. Water, thundering, crashing, breaking, forming, molding, shaping. 

My grief is a river. It is beautiful and it is ever changing, ever moving, ever flowing. Some moments soft and life giving. Holy. Other moments it thunders and I can't hear a word above it's noise. Holy too. I fear it will drown me if I dwell too long in its churning waters. But this river is not a well of despair. It is not still and dead, it is moving and changing, flowing fresh with hope, alive and abundant. Life giving water -- sacred, holy, grief -- baptizes me with grace.

I relax and sink into the river. I let it's waters wash me clean. 

Dead skin flakes off in the strong current, dirt loosens from my nails, grime frees itself from my face. I let the water tear off my old rags and bathe me new. The current slows again, trickling now to a steady stream -- I let the cool water and the calm winds soothe my aching joints and sore muscles. I swirl my dripping hair into a bun atop my head, letting the waters of my grief cool my mind and heart. 

My grief is a river. The current is not without purpose. It is not without life. It shapes the land it travels by and it changes things through time. These waters are not in vain. These wails are not in despair. 

In this water, dirt is washed clean. In my weeping, the old is made new. 

He is with me in these waters. In the baptizing of my grief. In holy lament. 

It is not pretty, but it is gracious and a loving gift. We weep together, as the tide changes. Stillness and movement. Active surrender. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? The God of Love meets the river of grief and I am washed in the steadfast lament.