Eye of the Storm

As if grieving weren’t confusing enough the constant array of emotions boggles my mind.

Grief is a mighty collection of conflicting, diametrically opposed, craziness of thought.

It is sorrow and joy and gratitude and fear and an endless array of others that defy logic.

I could be filled with gratitude one moment and down on my knees crying in pain the next and sometimes at the same time.

This grief journey is like a tornado. How the air goes still with a green tint of dread before the tornado arrives. And when it comes it is a whirling ferocious beast that leaves destruction and chaos as it strips away even the most anchored. Ripping any preconceived notions of love and life clean away in a moment, leaving you ravaged and spent; leaving devastation and numbness in its wake. The numbness of wading through the scattered debris to pick up the shattered tokens of memories. The monumental effort to put a life, torn to shreds, back together.

I’ve heard tell that in the center of the whirling chaos is a soft, quiet, eye of the storm place. A place of unparalleled stillness despite the merciless bombardment all around. A place where time seems to stand still. 

It is this place that I seek as I brave the powerful winds of change. Somehow, if I could only find my way into the center of the storm where it is quiet and calm. There, I would find Mighty Arms waiting for me, holding all the answers to my questions.

But the truth is my Jesus is not a destination to get to. He is my place to begin and my Champion on the way. He and His Mighty arms are here around me already. The Eye in my storm walks with me. He makes me brave.

Anne

March 25, 2021