I wrote the original version of this post in 2007, two weeks after realizing: I did not know my own mother – not really, not at all.
In all the years since then, I’ve made only minor edits.
The last two weeks have been intense.
A bomb goes boom.
What do those two statements have in common? Both are accurate, but neither conveys the impact.
Boom
After two intense weeks, I’m strewn – and numb. My mind careens in every direction except the subject at hand. It refuses to make a to-do list. It runs, screaming, from thinking tasks. It goes into blank-screen mode when told to focus.
Happily, even without a to-do-list, I’ve done some things. I dusted the living room and dining room, washed a load of clothes, swept and mopped the kitchen floor.
My hands now gravitate to tasks that can be tackled without engaging brain. My brain applauds all this productive activity, delighted to remain thus un-engaged.
Meanwhile, my emotions won’t identify themselves.
“Come out now!” I cry. The answer? Silence.
I know they’re in there, hiding behind bolted doors, getting into mischief, but I can’t locate the key. Two outcomes seem possible, and equally frightening: that my emotions will stay locked inside me indefinitely or that they’ll burst out in unexpected places and ways.
“This is grief,” a kind friend says.
“You’re experiencing post-traumatic stress,” another observes.
Having walked through trauma and grief in their own lives, these two women know what the scenery looks like along the way.
One of them told me, “I’m praying that during this time you’ll float.”
Her remark sounded random, laughable. But I didn’t laugh.
Instantly, I recalled long summer days of youth, spent at a local swimming pool. Hour after hour, I swam, dived off the diving board and played water games with my friends.
Sometimes, though, I simply lay on my back in the water. Without effort or struggle, I stayed afloat.
Upheld
Genesis 7:18 speaks of a huge, wooden, animal-laden vessel that did likewise:
And the waters became mighty and increased greatly upon the land, and the ark went [gently floating] upon the surface of the waters.
The Message paraphrases the same verse this way:
The waters kept rising, the flood deepened on the Earth, the ship floated on the surface.
The story continues:
The flood got worse until all the highest mountains were covered – the high water mark reached twenty feet above the crest of the mountains. Everything died. Anything that moved – dead … every last one of them, gone. Only Noah and his company on the ship lived. (Gen. 7:19-23 MSG)
When the rains came down and the floods came up, who survived the trauma and grief? Those who floated.
Of course, Noah and company didn’t lie on their backs in the water. No one could have done that successfully during such a cataclysmic and lengthy flood. Surviving the flood required taking refuge in a vessel designed to float.
Was there grief in that ark? Yes. Unspeakable grief. Was there tension? Absolutely. At times, tempers must have flared. And fear? Fear had to have been there too. So many emotions; such great loss; so little space.
Yet through it all, they were all upheld.
As they remained in that place of refuge, Noah and clan didn’t twiddle their thumbs. They had a daily routine. But the daily ark routine – the floating above trauma routine – was not the same as their daily routine before the flood. Oh, no.
Once the bomb goes boom, what was previously normal is no longer even in the picture. Over time, floaters sort the scattered pieces until a new normal emerges.
Learning
The floating I’m learning isn’t denying. It isn’t escaping.
It’s what John 15 calls remaining in Christ. However strewn I am, however numb, I stay in the one who will not sink … and there ride out the flood.
Written and published as a newspaper column in 2007, this article first appeared as a post on this blog Feb. 15, 2012. It was titled, “Survivors float.” This is a lightly edited version with a new name.
See also
- The blessing of mourning
- Truth, desperation, spirit, life
- God who has wronged me
- Can we talk about shame?
- Heartcry of one who overcomes
- Return to my rest
- I will fear no evil: Resting in God’s very present help
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I too love/loved the water as a child… this is a beautiful image for me to cling to right now with my family. Thank you Deborah for such a timely repost❤️
♥️💔♥️
My faith has remained strong following our son’s sudden death, but my body has not. Today marks 27 weeks since my last fully well day. It seems I have aged a year for each month, finally catching up to the calendar rather than belying my actual age. I’m not in denial. I’m not numb. I know peace and assurance, and I’m doing all the things doctors advise. Still, I wait and hope for healing so I can do all the things that yet need doing in this new version of my world.
Thank you for letting me know, Lynn. The grief in losing a child is profound. I wait and hope with you.
Amen…thank you!
Thank you, Deborah… we are going through quite a storm in our family with very little to no power or control over the circumstances or outcome. When I start looking at the raging waters, waves and wind (the circumstances) and fear and panic start to set in I have to remind myself that Jesus is in the boat with me. He can handle this storm. When I pray, “Thank you, Jesus for being in the boat with me…I trust you”, the peace of God that passes all understanding fills my heart and mind. The circumstances might not change, or the change might be very slow but we will make it because Jesus is in the boat with us!
Oh, Sally. What you and your family are facing is so hard. I have no idea what your circumstances are, but I know that fear and panic.
Thank you, Jesus, that you are in the boat with us – as you were more than once with the 12. Thank you that you are the boat – the ark who shelters and carries us. You are our hope in the storm.
Thanks for this “Christian” experience of trauma. I’m struck by its parallel to the description of surviving the trauma of our son’s death I gave in my recent blog post, “Carried by Kindness.” I hadn’t thought of it in terms of abiding in Christ as much as Christ abiding with me in both spiritual and practical realities. The end result either way is surviving. Praise the Lord!
https://thoslyons.wixsite.com/mattsdad/post/carried-by-kindness
Thank you so much, Tom, for sharing the story of all those who showed you kindness as you grieved for your son.
Thank you, Lord, that however it may look – and through all the pain we may feel along the way – your love and faithfulness sustain us. 💔❤️🩹♥️