Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Matthew 5:4

Mourning is the acknowledgement that something has been broken.  What should have been whole has been shattered.  It’s what erupts out of the soul when you stand in a place and dare to really see things as they are.  You won’t let yourself look away to feel better.  You feel the fracture and see the layers of it. 

Mourning does come naturally to an artistic personality type. I’ve been called an empathic idealist, and I’ll admit, I do live with a heightened sensitivity to pain. I mourn personal losses, but I also feel the pain of others’ sorrows. I sense the weight of their injustices, traumas, and broken relationships.  That has overwhelmed me at times, and I didn’t come up for air. I’ve learned that I must be intentional in avoiding imbalance.  I was meant to live in joy and in the enjoyment of God’s presence.   

When sorrow does touch our lives, we can know that Jesus does not dismiss our tears nor try to temper them with upbeat, cheery messages.  He wants us to know that our sorrow is sacred.  It is not evidence of faithlessness, but that we dwell near the heart of God. 

The world says, “Enough. Stop crying.  Stay strong. Move on.” 

Jesus says, “Cry here with me. You’re safe. You are seen, and I will comfort you.” 

You and I were created for more than this world offers.  More beauty, more connection, more peace, and when life disappoints, we mourn the loss as well as the painful differences between earth and heaven.  We were born with the seed of eternity in our hearts.  We remember what perfection feels like, and the ache of the Fall is in our bones.  It would be UN-natural not to feel it and react. 

I’m in my senior years. I’ve mourned many things. I can tell you with certainty that God meets His children when they mourn. He doesn’t just soothe; He transforms as we come to know Him in the travail He suffered while journeying to the cross. His comfort isn’t a band-aid; it’s communion. He does not explain away sorrow; He sits in it and feels it with us.

Comfort comes to us liberally – all the way to the dawn. 

I want to be a vessel for comfort because I’ve known You, my Comforter.  Amen