This New Year’s Eve we got word that our nephew’s little boy Sawyer, not yet 4 years old, had been taken from us in a car crash.
As the world in general celebrated, we wept. While others were light-hearted, our hearts felt, and feel, like stone. Numbness, pain, denial, grief, and questioning. . . always questioning.
Questions with answers we do not understand, some with answers we know but which do not satisfy, others with answers we feel we will never find.
Oh, surely. Speak to us of God’s promises, tell us “death will never again have the last word.” We know these things. We need to believe them. But at the moment, we can barely hear anything beyond our tears and the beating of our own hearts. And wondering why our hearts still beat when his is silent.
Everything seems so wrong. And it is wrong. We were not meant to say goodbye. We were not created so that we could experience such loss. At these times we begin to grasp that we are pilgrims, that this world is not our home. It cannot be our home. We were not made to live in a world where such loss is even possible.
And as the world around us celebrates, for some reason the words of Psalm 137 begin pulsing through my spirit.
By the waters of Babylon,
there we sat down and wept,
when we remembered Zion.
At times like these, we remember the world we lost, the world that included Sawyer. and beyond that, an ancestral longing for Eden, where death is the stranger.
But we live here. And here, the unknowing throng greets us with “Happy New Year!” Is it? Most of the old year seemed so much happier.
we hung up our lyres.
For there our captors
required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How shall we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?
And that is our challenge. Yes, we know. Life must go on. We must not let go of hope. We must find the melody again, must find the courage to sing of the Eden restored and of the New Earth. That will be for tomorrow, or the day after–some day after. But not today. Give us leave to hang our harps today. Allow us space to weep by the rivers of Babylon.
Ed. I am moved by your post. No words, only God’s presence, will ever bring comfort. Across the hall where I write these words sit the ashes of my 15-month-old grandson, who died without explanation in his sleep in August of 2011. Nothing in this life, no scripture, no inspirational quote, no sermon, prepares you to hold your lifeless grandchild in your arms, as I did that night in the presence of strangers–firefighters, detectives, and grief-counselors. I know your pain. I’ve walked the path you are just beginning. It hurts like hell. It is hell. Hang your harps on the willows and weep, but at the same time, hang onto to God with all you’ve got. And know, even though you may not feel it, that He’s hanging onto you with all He’s got. A year later, we still weep. Jordan’s place will never be filled. We suffered an amputation. But I can testify to you that God is faithful. He does in fact walk with us through the “valley of the shadow.” There is peace in the midst of the storm; joy in the presence of pain; and hope when all seems hopeless. You will laugh again. Not today. Today the earth has moved beneath you. But underneath are the everlasting arms. Let Him carry you.
Randy Maxwell
I’m thankful for your post. I understand how you feel. I lost my dad 2 years ago on the same day. I sometimes get the “Why are you crying over that?” or “Can’t you wait until New Years?” question. Sadly, this will be a hard part for both of our families probably for the rest of our lives. God is probably grieving also. We weren’t meant to experience loss. I cling to the hope that I can see family again one day, and I’ll be praying for you guys also.
So sorry for your loss Ed. I grieve with you and your family because it IS the only thing we’re capable of doing in these moments. No one should take that away from you or tell you otherwise. It’s a horrible thing to have to say goodbye to little children, I just think of how many family members had to do that this holiday season. It’s beyond words.What encourages me is that it seems to me that you are holding on to God quite strongly, and it is these moments that make it almost irrational to do so. I believe, however, He’s grieving along with you for sure, proof of that is the words of God himself to the Israelites recorded by Hosea, “How, oh how, can I give you up, Ephraim! How, oh how, can I hand you over, Israel!” Hosea 11:8 (j b phillips)
Ed, I pause for a time of silence and intercession on behalf of your family regarding this terrible loss. This is a time for “mourning and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted.” So we hang the harps of praise for the day, but not without the hope that you acknowledge by faith. Martin
There is a time to weep and a time to morn. Those of us who know the family weep with you and pray that you feel the Father’s arms around you. May He strengthen the family today and every day. Some day, you’ll be able to take the harp down, but there is no rush. When you do, your song will be different. It will forever be changed by the loss you’ve suffered. Our prayers are with you.
Laments are in the Bible for a reason! They are an appropriate expression of deep grief. I lament with Lora and Jason as well. Lord, only you know the depth of their grief, and how to move them to a place of peace and comfort. Be with everyone affected by Sawyer’s death.