Grief Lives in the Body
The rapid breathing of a wife grieving.
Holding a mother while her world falls apart.
A heavy weight hangs on your shoulders
And wraps itself around your heart.
Your hands start shaking as the adrenaline flows.
Fight or flight, stand or run.
Your knees grow weak, and your chest gets tight
Hearing all the sounds at once (or else none).
The visceral feeling of world-ending pain
As a crying mother screams out her son’s name.
Calling on Jesus’ name and blood
Surrounded by the relentless flood
Of sights and sounds and people and noise:
Trading our sorrows for all of our joys.
We yearn for the resurrection of the dead
But can’t help but wonder: why all this instead
Of a world that’s kinder?
We sit and we pray, hoping for a reminder
Of your grace and your goodness while we lament.
The weight of these burdens has us bent
So low we can hardly stand.
Hold us today in the palm of your hand.
Holding a mother while her world falls apart.
A heavy weight hangs on your shoulders
And wraps itself around your heart.
Your hands start shaking as the adrenaline flows.
Fight or flight, stand or run.
Your knees grow weak, and your chest gets tight
Hearing all the sounds at once (or else none).
The visceral feeling of world-ending pain
As a crying mother screams out her son’s name.
Calling on Jesus’ name and blood
Surrounded by the relentless flood
Of sights and sounds and people and noise:
Trading our sorrows for all of our joys.
We yearn for the resurrection of the dead
But can’t help but wonder: why all this instead
Of a world that’s kinder?
We sit and we pray, hoping for a reminder
Of your grace and your goodness while we lament.
The weight of these burdens has us bent
So low we can hardly stand.
Hold us today in the palm of your hand.
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