“For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground:  Isaiah 44:3

I’ve said goodbye to many loved ones who are now in heaven.  My mother died when I was 30.  I never knew my grandfathers.  My grandmothers graduated to heaven when I was 10, and again at 25.  My Dad died of cancer in 2003 and 7 years ago today, our son, Ryan, took his life. There was no warning. There was no note. There was no easy closure.  In 2019, June 16th also happened to be Father’s Day. A gift of homemade beef jerky had been delivered the night before. Ryan was upbeat, engaging, and gave no hint of something amiss. He was near us, and then, he was gone. The absence was both excruciating and disorienting and it continued to be – long before anything comforting could be felt.

Valuable things have been learned since then. God unwrapped the concept of ‘severe mercy.’ Pain began to unearth some skewed theology. I also came to realize that redemption and healing are incremental. But lessons aside, when grief sets in and wordlessness takes over, I learned that I need Jesus first before I need others.

The words from the scrolls of Isaiah wash over my mother’s heart, yet again, as the sadness hits and our family’s wilderness begs to be bathed by the incoming flood of Living Water. God doesn’t send a drop of water to the desert. He sends a flood. He offers more than enough. He is more than enough.

Oh Spirit of God, be poured out to comfort others, like us, whose hearts are broken. Encourage those who are still plagued with questions and fight disillusionment with you.  Be poured out upon the dry bones of our lives, the places where the smell of death is still in the air.  Be poured out upon the Word which we know, the Word which has been preached to us, prayed over us, and is still in the process of changing us.  Touch our barren landscapes with the promise of green.  We are the dry ground and You are the river.  Amen