A Time Like No Other ~ Part 2

          It seems fitting, as I pen this blog post for you, that storms are pouring through our region. One after another, feeling like they’ll never end, although we know they will.

          We often equate “storms” with difficult events in our lives. I’ll share with you in this second half about storms in ours and how those tie in with my friend, Joan.

          First though, let me say I believe the death of a child is the hardest type of pain and grief parents can ever feel. How can mothers and fathers ever get over this? Yet, as one wise woman shared with me once, “Life goes on for the living.”

          It has to, but sometimes that seems impossible.

          For Joan and her husband, it took them in two different directions. No, they never separated or divorced, but Joan sought help to work through her grief and called out to God repeatedly. Her husband “seemed lost” in his grief, went on through his working day because he had to, then pretty much “buried himself” when home.

          I was blessed to have such a friend as Joan. We met when I was 11 years old. She was a mom with youngsters then. Through the testimony of her neighbor, Joan came to the same church we attended and had accepted Jesus as her Savior. Joan volunteered to help at VBS that year. That’s where we “connected.” We’d grow a no-matter-what friendship—the kind that only gets stronger whatever came our way.

          So, here I was now with a brokenhearted friend and me living a couple hours away. But that didn’t sever the ties. We talked by phone, and I visited her up till the time Brian and I married—then he also joined me in this friendship.

          Not only did Joan and her husband lose their son (and their daughter, her brother), but even before he was buried, people (family included) hurled condemnation on them. “You should’ve raised him differently.” And “If you hadn’t found religion, this wouldn’t’ve happened.” And “It’s obvious you drove him to this. No kid in their right mind would just leave home like that.” Etc.

          Joan shared with us that the accusations were almost too hard to endure on top of the already crippling grief that buried them. Still, she determined to heal because she just couldn’t imagine going through life without finding solace.

          Eighteen years passed when we’d face our time like no other—when our world crumbled.

          August 1996. Brian and I needed a friend who truly understood our pain. Our child ran away. Who was the first person I sought out? It should’ve been God, but I’m not sure it was. I do, however, remember calling Joan.

          At that point we didn’t know if our child was just “gone” or worse. I cannot go into all that took place, but I can tell you it was utter torment!

          …a time like no other!

          We did learn enough about our child’s whereabouts and how she ended up 600+ miles away. But from the end of October into the following year, I feared the worst and cried day and night.

          Brian tried to reassure me our child was not dead—that she was “out there” somewhere and would eventually come home. Thank the Lord, my husband was right, although she didn’t choose to come back to us.

          Joan’s phone line was open to us any time of day or night. She checked in on us, and I was grateful to have her—more than I know how to express!

          Why share all this with you, readers? Because deep friendships matter. This commitment. This bond. Especially when one who’s already been on grief’s journey can turn around, take your hand, and lead you to a better place.

          That’s who Joan was to me. Like God’s Word shares:

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies

and God of all comfort, Who comforts us in all our affliction so that

we will be able to comfort those who are in…any affliction with the comfort

with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” II Corinthians 1:3,4 (nasb)

 

          No one desires grief or pain. (At least I don’t think we do!) Yet, when the storms of life engulf us and we see no way out, God is our very help. When we turn to Him for solace and rescue, He brings comfort and walks with us through our grief and pain. Carries us when we can’t walk against the wind, and eventually brings us to a place of healing.

          No, we’re no longer the same. The storm has left its scars; but by relying on Him, we’ve received the best Counsel ever—from the One Who knows what it’s like to go through the worst!

         Here’s how God uses those experiences—God comforted Joan as she sought Him (also attending a support group for parents who lost children and benefitting greatly from that), Joan comforted me (us) in a way I accepted because she’d “been there” and our friendship was so strong. And, once we were on the healing journey, God brought people into our lives with whom we could share His Words and offer them comfort.

          On this subject: I remember reading that Betsy ten Boom told her sister Corrie (both having been in the concentration camps)* that when they were freed, “We will tell everyone that there is no pit that is so deep, that God is not deeper still…they will believe us, because we have been there.”

          Pain and grief are great “authenticators.” If you’ve been through storms and survived with God’s help, you have “earned the privilege” of helping others get through their storms. And, as Betsy expressed (although she did not survive the camps—only Corrie did) those who are hurting will believe you because you have “been there.”

          I’ve told many people, we didn’t “get in the line” for the hardships we’d go through—runaway child, accusations that crushed us, blame for what kind of parents we were, etc., but God wastes nothing!

          Even the deepest pain—the most awful “storm damage”—can be used to point others who hurt to our God. The Rescuer. Comforter. Healer.

Till the Storm Passes By

by Hovie Lister (playing the piano in this video)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdDM0K9XC78

 

*Their story is told in the book, The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom—also made into a movie.

#storms #runaway #falseaccusations #pain #grief #healing #Godofallcomfort

Photo Credit: istock.com