Love

We had resolved right away that we would not avoid things and traditions Jonah loved. We knew this year, and likely next, would be filled with terribly painful moments, but to avoid them is merely to delay. The more we avoid touching painful things, the more we might be tempted to draw back from touching even what might be adjacent to what is painful. Before long you have painted yourself into a very small, fearful, angry life, and that does not honor his memory at all. No, we must touch the third rail, and touch it again, until we have felt all there is and the pain changes into sweet memories, gathering tears at the corner of our eyes instead of consuming us in a whirlwind. And so, 3 months to the day of Jonah’s passing, we went to the cabin for the 4th of July. 

For as long as I have been alive, my family has headed to Breezy Point, MN for a fantastic week of picnics, games, lake time, and fireworks. It is always memorable, it is always so fun, and it was one of Jonah’s favorites. While I know Thanksgiving, Christmas, and certainly Easter (Jonah passed the week leading up to Easter) will be extremely tender, I really wasn’t anticipating the 4th as being one of the big ones. 

But then again, grief is a wiley beast and she unexpectedly took a bite out of me.

While I tried my best to rally, there were a few days at the cabin where all I could do was lay in my bed and sob. For hours and hours. Sleep and sob. My parents felt helpless. I could not help them. Elijah was so worried for me. I could not comfort him. The only thing I could feel was crushing sadness and loss. There was no room for food. Or laughter. Even trying to just get up and sit with everyone in the living room felt like an impossibility. I was gutted and utterly without strength. I had nothing to give to anyone. My grief required it all. 

Leaving the cabin and heading home felt better, and a day or two later I was back to some semblance of equilibrium. As had become my summer habit, I woke up early and headed out to the garden in my pajamas, ready to spend some time with the Lord, reaching upward for the Holy Spirit in wordless prayer. As I was feeling for God’s peace, a question began to form. How do I do this? I can’t rob my Elijah of the loving, joyful presence of his mom, but I also cannot, and would not, compartmentalize my grief and love for Jonah. Over the 4th, I could not hold both. I either had to put Jonah away in order to be present, or let the flood of sorrow and love fill my entire vision. I couldn’t seem to do both. How do I carry both? How do I keep loving BOTH my boys in equal measure, all the time? And how in the WORLD will I ever have the strength left over for anyone else, loving others as I have been called to do? I. cannot. 

As the question spilled over, tears rolling down my cheeks, a vision began to form, as if in response. Hazy at first, it materialized in my mind’s eye and started to come into focus. I was sitting on a high throne, in the center of a large, rounded, cathedral-spired, white, marble room. There were high, arched windows streaming with the brightest light, and perhaps the shimmer of water in the distance. As I looked down at my sandaled feet, I could see in one arm I was cradling a swirl of deep, saturated color - magentas, midnight blues, and reds. Rich, mesmerizing, achingly beautiful, painful. Jonah. In the other arm, I held another swirl of the brightest greens, yellows, sky blues. Vibrant, fresh, swelling with energy and new life. Elijah. As I held both on either side of my body, cradled lovingly, I looked toward the center of my body. My chest was unencumbered and open, heart glowing through my skin and robes. The warmth and color from my heart radiated out into the room, like beams from the sun. 

I immediately had a deep knowing of what God was saying to me. I knew then that I could hold both the love and sorrow for Jonah and his transition equally with the love and anticipation for the life Elijah has yet to live. I could do both. But I also had more than enough room for others. My heart is not flat. My love has dimension. I am illuminated by infinite love because God lives in me. 

I was staggered by the beauty of it. I am not one who usually receives visions like this, but since Jonah’s death I have had a few moments where God has given me something, right at the time I needed it most. 

I needed to know that love has no limit. 

My love, my heart, has not been crushed, but broken open and is in the process of expanding. God is filling me with His love, and it cannot be exhausted. I will not lay down either of my children in order to make room for more. But you see, there is no need. Instead it seems like a circuit has been formed, from one arm, through my heart, to the other and whomever will be standing in front of me. A complete motion of love; love begets love begets love begets love.

Hallelujah.

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. 

1 John 4:16