Sing, little bird

Prayer is my first coping mechanism. But...

I'm a weakling, so I also use multiple coping methods: blubbering, laughing, yelling, eating, shopping, sleeping.

Sleeping is hard when I'm filled with angst and sorrow. So I write.

I write lyrics like:

Lord of the heavens and Lord of the sea;

Your will and Your ways are a mystery to me.

You move like the wind as You blow through the trees;

Yet through every conflict You will shelter me.

It’s not stellar. But it is hopeful.

In one especially dark season of life I learned to love the book of Job. It's a story of pain and loss. Of random badness. Trial and tribulation for no humanly good reason.

Job lost everything we hold dear and was left with a nagging critical spouse who urged him to curse God and die. I know she was grieving too — and that is likely why she lost it. But another part of me thinks the Devil left her alone so she could torture Job.

At any rate, I realized that we only have one choice. Will we choose to curse God and die? Or will we choose to trust Him. Job trusted. And his example held me together somehow.

I hope Job and I are buddies in heaven. I at least want to give him a hug. I’ll be lined up with hundreds of thousands of people no doubt.

Are you stressed? Are you going through a lot of unfair things? Are you struggling with worry or sorrow over a loved one? Take a hot bubble bath. Shake your fist at God. Yell at him and tell him how hard this is. And then let him hold you and cry with you. Because in the end, God loves you and your loved ones even more than you do. And seeing their pain - and your pain - is one of the hard parts of being God. Through it all, trust him.

Words come to me during times of distress. But not singing. Grief causes me to lose my desire for song. Maybe that's what's behind this poem I wrote for a dear friend after learning her daughter had days to live:

Sing little bird in the darkness. Like a nightingale you have your own song.

You have no fear of the shadows, for you know you are never alone.

Sing to the stars in the heavens and sing to each leaf on the tree.

Sing for you cannot keep silent.

Sing for you know you are free. Though you have reason for mourning, your song isn't that of a dove.

The tune of your song is much deeper — like the pain you’ve endured. Like your love.

So sing little bird in the darkness. Sing fully. Sing slowly. Sing long.

Sing little bird through the darkness. Through the night ‘til the light of the dawn.

Pain and grief have a way of diminishing us. I've felt it. Like a helpless little bird. So if, by chance, you're reading this during a sleepless night, maybe this little poem will help you through the darkest parts. You are not alone, little bird.

Photo by insecta62, CC BY 2.0.