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Picking Up The Pieces

No matter what, we have to keep moving forward, even if we have to crawl. 
                                               ― Kellie Elmore

My 2018's end is marked by the death of my brother, Calvin. He died last December 7 because of a blood-poisoning disease, typhoid toxemia. He was fifteen. This occurrence shocked the tears and grief out of us, and while the hustle and bustle of the wake and burial compelled me to set my own emotions aside to take care of logistical things and other immediate concerns, I knew I had to deal with it soon after. Sure enough, when I opened my emotional ice box to retrieve these emotions, they came back in strong currents, in huge waves.

And the best (or worst, still can't decide which) part in grieving after everyone else has grieved is, you're left on your own. After every condolence has been thrown out and said, after everyone else has gone home, I'm left to pick up all the pieces. To treat (and make sure I don't just poke around and keep it from healing) the wound incurred because of a loved one's departure. And the pieces that I'm picking to gather, so far, are jagged edges. Fragile.

The image of Calvin looking so pale. Him gasping for breath. His eyes rolling back as he finally lost consciousness. Him being given CPR so many times. A tear falling from his eye before he finally closed them. A lot of times, especially during dull drives and silent moments, these images would flash and haunt me. It's painful. It's traumatizing. It's paralyzing. Don't get me wrong. I am not in bitter resentment or in anger on what happened--especially not on my sovereign God who orchestrated all of these.

 But I am also not okay. And I am still to pick up all my broken pieces.

 I am still to gather myself after this latest heartbreak. And recently, there has been so many breaking in me. There is hardly now any aspect in my life on which the Lord has not broken me. And when you are broken on every side, there are a lot of shattered pieces lying around.

 And honestly, I have no idea how to deal with the pieces anymore. I struggle with trying to process everything--from my home, to my work, my career, profession, my plethora of emotions, church, friends. I'm at a loss once more on where I must go--or if I must move at all. It appears that every time I try to pick up a piece, I become more scratched and scathed than before. But I guess that's part of the process.

 The most comforting thought throughout all these brokenness, however, is the One who hides me under the shadow of His wings.
The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.
 Psalm 34:18

 He who answers all my prayers for growth, faith, and love in Him and for Him through all these providence and learning situations will see me through this valley--until His work for me is complete. Oh, for a more humble, trusting heart that would seek to do all His will--no matter the shade or shadow that lies before me.

 Sometimes I glimpse into the fog And listen for the song Til then I’m waiting for the day In the shadows of the dawn. (Gray Havens)
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