Niagara Falls

 "In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul." Psalm 94:19 ERV
"When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul." Psalm 94:19 ESV

In the wake of Patrick's death, I've told Jared I feel like I have Niagara Falls inside of me and all the talking in the world can't let out all that's trapped inside. The memories, the ache I can't find words for, the questions of wondering which was the first misstep that led us here. How long, LORD? How long until I can be reunited? What now, LORD? Why are hearts so stubborn and hard? Why do the thorns, the barbs, like briars keep us trapped in old patterns? Why my son? What didn't he get to survive?

In Hebrew the word translated as "multitude" is rob (רֹב). It's first used in Genesis 16:10 when the LORD tells Abraham his offspring will be too many to count. Accurate. The thoughts, the questions, the quick succession of emotions and memories that rapid fire through me are too many to count. 

Further word study tells me the Hebrew word for "anxious thoughts" or "cares of my heart" is a word that comes from the idea of lopping off branches until there's too many. 

 "....a mind cut into competing branches, no single trunk of purpose. Anxiety, in Hebraic conception, is not a feeling about something — it is a forking of the self, a mind that has grown too many limbs."

 Child-loss has a way of creating a pre-mature pruning, resulting in too many limbs. Child-loss is a traumatic bereavement that causes the "trunk" to go offline. The limbic system becomes hyperactive, and the inner self can't reconcile what was with what now is. Patrick existed here physically in the present and then he didn't. Life miraculously moves on, while my life feels stagnant. I'm still his mother, yet he is no longer here to mother.  My neurological network splinters into competing narratives. I know he's dead. I know it. But it still catches me off guard like a sucker punch to the gut that takes my breath, literally. 

Which leads me to the word for "consolation" in Hebrew, which is tanchum (תַּנְחוּם). This word gets its origin from nacham (נָחַם) a word with dualistic meanings of comfort and repent, represented by the action of breathing. It's a deep inhale, a breath of relief, a breath of fresh air. Or on the other end of the spectrum a deep sigh of regret. 

Inhale. Exhale. Nacham is the summarized existence of the human experience through breathing. I breathe in hope and exhale regret. 

When I think of grief through this lens, this idea of "lopping off" and "excessive branching" I'm reminded of Jesus' words in John 15 when He reminds us to abide. Each inhale is an act of abiding. It's finding strength in the Word. (Psalm 119:28). It's recentering my focus on the Hope I have in Him. 

Which leads me to the Hebrew word for delight which is sha'a (שָׁעַע) and it can mean both delight and blindness. It carries a striking double range — both "to be smeared/shut (blind)" and "to delight/gaze fondly." Both are the eye pressed: one shut in blindness, one fixed in delight.

Bringing to mind Jesus' teaching in Matthew 6:19-21, specifically that last verse "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." 

My treasure is in the One who holds my life in His hands. He holds my heart. He also holds my boy. 

I can be blinded by grief by saying it's been 15 weeks since Patrick was here. 16 weeks since I felt his arms around my neck and heard him say, "I love you, Momma" 

Or I can be cheered by the hope I proclaim by knowing he's had 15 weeks in the presence of Jesus living and basking in His Amazing Grace. 

When my soul is weary with sorrow. I am strengthened by His Word. (Psalm 119:28). I set my mind on things above (Col 3:2) and I breath in hope of the resurrection and reunion with my son. I exhale the regret of all the different choices (mine, his, and others) that led us to the moment that cost his life. I acknowledge the *brokenness of my heart and of humanity that ultimately sends us to our Father and Savior for the remedy. And I'm grateful for the love and mercy that beckons me to bring all of it to Him to fix. God is for me. God is good. The future is bright with the promise of renewal and it's where I choose to look today. And my soul is cheered. 

*broken in Hebrew is the word שָׁבַר shabar — "to break, shatter, burst" but this same word is used in the Genesis narrative surrounding the 7 years of plenty followed by the 7 years of famine. It's used whenever Jacob sends his sons to buy grain. This points us to the theological doctrine preached by Jesus in John 12:24 that breaking is a part of the multiplying, being fruitful, process. AND that brokenness draws us near to God because it brings us back to Him for His sustenance. With each first breath of the day, I acknowledge my dependence on Him to get through all of what threatens to deplete me. And my closing prayer these days is a pretty good indicator that it was enough just for today. 

"Give us this day our daily bread." Matthew 6:11