grey days, grey tears, grey hearts

It is a grey morning... not the light dove grey of an approaching snow storm... but the dark, heavy, oppressive grey that weighs my soul down... keeps my spirit bent over. This light suits me this morning. It has been a difficult week.
All around me, I feel grief. My friend’s mother has no more treatment options for her cancer. Another friend is living through the anniversary of her husband’s death. My mother is grieving moving from her home on the farm in Georgia. Other friends are grieving the loss of a beloved uncle. Those of us who have traveled with grief in our lives know the roadmap is one with many detours, marked and unmarked. And, each persons’ journey takes a different route.
Our language changes and our bodies take on different shapes when we grieve. Unselfconscious pleas for remembrance in prayer... tears flow from the cracked hearts through our eyes and into the hearts of others... hugs become body prayers of love and hope... heavy hearts... heavy bodies held down by the difficult task of letting go. How can we take our road trips with grief and not get lost in the detours of hopelessness and despair?
As always, the Psalms provide one part of my map back home. The writers of the Psalms had no difficulty naming their griefs. "Save me, O God; for the waters are come into my soul. I sink in deep mire where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God". Psalms 69:1-3 The flowing water of tears shed for what has been lost can be the source of growth and expansion for the soul and spirit.
Too often we rush our grief. It makes others uncomfortable that we can’t get over it... it is seen as unhealthy to grieve too long (however too long is)... the naming of the person who died or is dying makes those around us twitchy... it might be their turn next. So we hurry through the pain, driving over the speed limit in our rush to get back to feeling normal again... happy again. The rush to "recover" prevents us from feeling not only the grief but also the gratitude for the gift of the person or place. Sitting, being still, letting the tears and the laughter flow, remembering and giving thanks for all that was, helps me find my way home.
The psalmists never stop entreating God to come..."Make haste, O God, to deliver me... make haste to help me...deliver me... save me... hear me..." They remind me of my cat Wiley who is a psalmist of sorts. In the mornings he begins scratching on our bedroom door at 6:30 singing a wake-up chorus of meows. Some mornings all he gets for his trouble is a "Go away, Wiley, dammit". Most mornings he gets his breakfast. But he always asks, and he always gets a response. Like Wiley, we need to keep asking God to come to us in our grief... help us find our way home.
So I will pray without ceasing... pray for the sense of the presence of God in the middle of my grey time... pray for rest and comfort for those who are walking in the valley of the shadow of death... pray for tears that heal and hugs that warm the spirit... pray for ears to hear God’s voice in the weeping... pray for eyes to see God’s love in the people around me... pray for a song to sing that transforms my grief... pray with thanksgiving for what has been and hope for a new beginning. Some mornings I may only hear "Go away, dammit"... but most mornings I will hear "I am with you always, even unto the end of the earth". That will be enough.