It stares at me. It’s been months. And I still can’t speak.
The open room. The silent space. The little emblems laying around that ask my mind to bend to His understanding…
Not mine.
And they say…
- We “signed up for this”, suffering.
- Giving, holds risks.
- Bending to love, only cracks you in places that won’t ever be mended.
“So, why love?” Screens all around taunt us, from a culture lost in selfishness, selfies, drugs, and escape mechanism…
A numb-driven world avoiding the reality that love can hurt, if we get too close, if we give our hearts away.
But could it be, this aching is a sign we are living? A sign that love has made it’s dent on our hearts? And just maybe…that’s o.k.?
It’s 3:00 a.m. and it seems lately I have had an evening date with solitude, communion with The One who created both night and day.
Normally, on autopilot…
But in the dark? The aching has no silent-mode, no escapism. The pain of reality can pull you into pieces…and there is nowhere to go, but Him.
And they ask us, “How are you doing?”…
“Grace, like a blanket covers us, we can feel it”, Is all I say. It’s all we’ve been experiencing…
Because we know, if God allowed the unraveling, we truly couldn’t go on.
But, at 3:00 a.m. I find myself sprawled along the carpet…In worship to The One, with tears, and lamenting.
It is here in this quiet, I am reminded of my promise to praise Him in both good and bad circumstances…
And it is here, now, I meet with Him. My soul, quiet enough to hear Him as she visits me in my dreams.
And I see her face again…while I am sleeping. Awake to the reality of all He is doing.
And I see her, know her more…
Again…
Like I did before she ever came.
And it is through this pain, I have learned the heart of David, the one who fasted and pleaded, prayed and interceded for his son…
But, the day he left him?
David stood up and worshiped, trusting the God of the Universe was Sovereign in all His goodness….
And that if God takes our children, He is still good, and He still can be trusted….
The One who puts the stars in Heaven, knows better than any of us mere humans, who only know in part…
As a boy David slayed giants, not because He was strong, but because He knew the God who stood by His side.
And I question this sacrificial life, on the carpet at 3:00 a.m….until He shows me a large house, cluttered with dusty furniture.
This furniture is the world’s resources; education, self-reliance, man’s so called knowledge and experiences…
Everything anyone can accumulate in this world is placed inside this house.
Yet, as we age, the deception of the world is revealed to us. And we realize how all we have merited is useless…
But often then, it is too late.
But then, God shows me a specific room. It’s the white space.
The door is locked. Yet somehow I know, it’s the place where her forever heart, the ones that’s gone, dwells inside me.
It’s the one room I haven’t entered, for I know it’s sacred…
Possessed only by the memories of a shoe strung across a floor, a photo I pass, or the thoughts of the nights I held her and comforted her as she lay inconsolable in my arms.
And there, on the carpet at 3:00 a.m. I know, the triumph of getting through the impossible, of fighting for love, of wanting my will, though He showed me she would leave…
Not just in my own soul, but through people who never even met her, strangers, and even through the mouth of my ten-year-old who loved her more than any of us.
But then, I see it. I lift my hands on that carpet, knees bent at 3:00 a.m. The vaulted door, that white room…
Water gushes in, around, past, and through the cracks in the door, flooding the dry places I had held holy, set apart, sacred for her memories alone.
And like the woman at the well, my thirsty heart gets reconciled. My aching in the night finds refuge and a knowing that I am not alone.
Then, He shows me more of that house. Many rooms, each given to a child, like a room of my own life; cleaned, dusted, and given for the sake of love.
A white space, made reconciled, set apart for a child…as I have worked diligently to follow His will…
And He shows me love always washes away the ugliness, fills all empty spaces, cleans out the things this life has left, hidden, tucked away, dingy and selfish.
Then, the doors fling open to these other white rooms, just like the one of my recent wound.
One for the infants, the toddler, the older girl that entered our home and changed me radically.
These rooms, each representing each child, given in love, and as a result washed white by His water and His light…
And I see His perspective…love is never wasted. If brave enough to give it, love washes and cleanses us. Giving, loving, sacrificing, surrendering, doesn’t just hurts, but heals us if we are fearless enough to welcome it…
I tip-toe into that sacred room, once more. The one that’s still raw. That one, I don’t see in the day when laundry needs doing, bed’s need making…
And I slowly find myself there, one with the room, behind the wall, washed along with that room, memories of holding her hand, teaching her to walk…
Hearing her call me, “mama” for the very first time….
And it’s all there. None of what I had given, was taken…
In fact, now new life has washed clean the pain that gripped me.
And I sit on that carpet at 3:00 a.m. discovering His heart anew overtaking me…
Tears stream down as I thank Him. My life wells up in gratitude that one little life could change me like it has.
I rejoice that through another’s pain and suffering, my life could be made looking more like the Father’s.
And I don’t regret even one day given for the sake of love.
At 3:00 a.m. there on the floor, my date with the God of the Universe makes me long to say “yes” to all He has for me…
For all good things, regardless of how they end, are just an invitation into His washing, a hand-opened gift into His goodness…
For unlike a calloused life of self-preservation, every time we love the lost, the broken, anyone else for that matter…Our own selves die a little….And maybe that’s o.k..
Yes, maybe the purpose of this one life we live isn’t to hoard, fill, accumulate and decorate, but to give ourselves away; to learn to love, give, and show the Father’s heart, even if it hurts a little along the way…
Yes, maybe the pain is the cleansing, the whiteness is the washing of a heart 
that was once was locked in dusty, self-protectiveness and self-defense.
And at 3:00 a.m. maybe it’s o.k. to enter into all the places created for Him and the gift of holiness He wants to give us, as we humbly do His will.
And maybe there are no words to express…
The love He has for those willing to unlock what we are keeping and give it all away.
Yes, maybe the cleaning happens in the giving, the surrendering. And perhaps the Water of Life is waiting to wash us white as snow...
- If we meet Him.
- If we say “yes”.
- If we’d be willing to praise Him, whole-y worship and dance in that white room with all our doors wide open…
Thanking Him for the gift of loving, knowing, regardless of what happens…
True love can never be taken from us.
It’s there. Always. A white-space in our hearts, eternally changing us, if we are brave enough to love without restraint.
But sometimes…
We don’t recognize it…
Until we are on our knees, at 3:00 a.m. in communion with a Father who values our empty spaces.
And meets us in grace and kindness.
Will you surrender all, open wide the doors of your heart, let love create and make in you…
White space?
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8 Comments
Jen,
This is one of the richest and poignant pieces on grief and loss I have read. It touched my heart so very much even though I am not in that space myself at this moment. Thank you for enriching all of us who read it by your raw, sensitive, powerful words about love and loss. May God’s heart be poured out to you as He cradles you in His arms.
Pam – Wrapping your words around my heart this evening! Bless you, and may He enriches us both as we draw closer to the Maker of Our Souls.
Jen, my heart broke so much with you as I read that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to comment.
I still can’t except to praise the Lord for those quiet moments of worship where He shows us what is really important in life and where He just meets us there.
May Jesus, the Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief, hold you tight and comfort your heart with His amazing, healing love.
Oh Ruth – Yes, the grief, but oh the blessing in the giving. The joy in the cleaning of cluttered rooms with the filling of His great love. Thanks for you words and your heart as we connect with Him through this season.
Jen, this is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your heart. My prayers are with you, friend.
Beautiful, Lisa! Thank you!
Powerful piece. Praise Our God who comforts us in our times of pain so that we might comfort others with the comfort we ourselves have received from Him. 2 Cor 1:3-4
I’m so sorry to hear this. I can feel your pain. But I can also sense your hope and faith. It’s so potent. Your faith is admirable. We’re all broken for one reason or another. But the warriors, like David keeps fighting anyway.
Thank you for giving us hope and courage through your sharing.