Sorrow and Love

Sorrow and love always do meet in every relational transaction. The only consideration worth its grain is a matter of intensity or level -- i.e., how much do we love or how much do we give?

Those who invest much grieve and rejoice even more.

Those who sacrifice little grieve and rejoice even less.

No wonder Christ was overcome with grief and passion in the Garden of Gethsemane. He is the One who invested the absolute most in His relational transactions with us who so often sacrifice very little on behalf of our fellow man.

Love

Sorrow

Could this co-existence of sorrow and love in the Son of Man be part of the reason leading Christ to summarize the Law and the Prophets with a singular  command: To love God and neighbor with wholeness of heart, mind, soul, and strength? Could this call to experience grief and passion play a vital role in our becoming more Christ-like?

Loving God completely inevitably leads one's feet to tread rocky and thorny paths that unearth much suffering on this side of heaven. Likewise, loving neighbor wholeheartedly leads one to experience hurts and wounds the likes of which sting more than do flaming darts. Still, the depth of joy and elation that is available to those who love sacrificially is referred to by David as "eternal pleasures at God's right hand." (Ps 16:11)

Therefore, no shortcuts are granted to us.

True love:

the height of joy is reached,

the depth of grief is plumbed,

North and South are extended

in equal measure.

I had no idea what was awaiting me when I prayed, asking the Lord to fill me with an undying love for Him and His bride. He began teaching me to love His Word, to love prayer, to love His people, to love His plan. With each aspect, I have had to look sorrow square in the face. A love for the Word, prayer, God's people, and God's plan does not materialize without tests and trials and torments and tribulations.

Hence, my life has been peppered with . . .

jabs
jeers
insults
delays

and most recently,

losses.

Within the span of less than two years, five relatives of mine have died, three of whom are my father and two beloved siblings. Each death feels like a stab in my gut. Each loss begs for more time to allow recovery to occur in my affected spirit and body.

Yet life does not stop.

Tick-tock goes the clock . . .
                          . . . and life moves on without deference to bruises, scars, or tears.

Sixteen days ago, my dear sister stopped breathing due to complications related to her vicious triple negative breast cancer. Of course, everything else stopped while arrangements were made for us to pay our last respects to her.

However, now is time for me to go back to work. Twice I have been on campus but haven't been able to make it all the way tony office. The pain of losing my sister is still too fresh, too hard for me to delve into the thick of academic work. The memories of multiple hospital visits spent alongside my ailing sister, countless talks with her oncologist and other health care providers, late night outings to the ER, and end-of-life talks will forever remain etched in my memory -- issues that have pulled on my heart strings and that demanded a great deal from me.

Truth be told, at this point in my life, I am honestly weary. I am worn out from my seasons of suffering, my seasons of affliction, my seasons of colossal losses. This weariness that has invaded my veins is a direct result from my perennial distress which pleads to go on and on, with no end or relief in sight.

I am not alone in this.
Believe me!

As I read through the psalms, I find in David someone who expressed a similar soul weariness from the suffering that plagued his own life. True to form, he declares in Psalm 6:6,

"I am weary with my moaning;

every night I flood my bed with tears;

I drench my couch with my weeping."

(Oh, isn't that verse describing my faucet-like eyes!?)

David further says in Psalm 69:1-3,

"Save me, O God!

For the waters have come up to my neck.

I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold;

I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me.

I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched.

My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God."

(Oh my!

I readily relate.)

I am weary . . .

with the tears

with the affliction

with the suffering

with the deep waters

with the sweeping flood

with the terrifying quicksand

with the quake and the surging

                  . . . and feel . . .

overwhelmed

overstrectched

overextended

. . . as if the losses are sweeping over me, drowning me.

Yet there is hope.

God was David's rock and refuge.

Likewise, He is my foundation, my foothold.

When I'm dim, He is my light.

When I'm weary, He is my rest.

When I'm poor, He is my wealth.

When I'm down, He is my summit.

When I'm weak, He is my strength.

" . . . He restores my soul."

-- Psalm 23:3

In my weariness and brokenness and woundedness and neediness, may the Lord reveal Himself to me as the place where my soul can find repose and restoration!

I will not love any less.

I will not give any less.

I surrender my sorrow and love to Him.