Lullaby of Peace

1 Thessalonians 4:13
Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.

We’ve all been there. On the receiving end of an unexpected blow. Grief, tragedy, sorrow. Mourning comes for all of us many times in the course of a lifetime.
I’ve experienced personal sorrow in the passing of my grandfathers and far-removed grief on 9/11 and in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.
I’ve lain in bed wracked with sobs and feeling inconsolable. I’ve been confused and thought about loss until my head hurt with it.
In the loss of our Katie, I was again knocked off my feet with sadness. Tears came, faded and reappeared without rhyme or reason. I tried to imagine her mom and dad’s emotions and failed miserably. Then I was oh so glad I couldn’t imagine.
I considered what might have been for any life cut short. And I’ll admit that unless someone is past ninety, I tend to think that their life was too short.
Mostly I just do what I’ve always done with great sorrow; talked to Jesus about it and ultimately; hand it over to him.
I have such sweet friends. They love me so much more than I deserve. They literally flock to me to hover around and hold my hand. I know they cry tears on my behalf.
Today one such sweet friend hugged me gently to her for a few extra moments. She held my hand and looked hard at me to tell me how sorry she was for the loss of this young lady. She assured me that she was praying for peace for the family. She told me she’s praying for me too. Then she asked me how I was.
“OK. Actually it’s weird, I’m tired. I don’t really have anything to say. I’m just really tired.”
I was a little surprised to hear my own response. As I walked to my car, it hit me. I am tired almost to the point of sleepy. My muscles are yearning to lay down in my comfy bed and catnap. My eyes are drooping closed against my will. I slept for twelve hours last night and I’m so very tired.
This, I realize, is what grieving in Jesus looks like.
It’s peace. Deep, penetrating, overwhelming peace. Peace that descends from heaven and wraps around me. A heavy shroud of protection easing my emotions and lulling me into quietness.
I had this same sensation when my Grampa Gerstein died. I had it when my Grandpa Trent died.
I have experienced it so many times and only today did I realize what it was.
I don’t grieve like those who have no hope.
I get sleepy.
Like a baby who snuggles against her daddy’s chest and knows for sure she is safe enough to fall asleep. I called out to Jesus and he sang me a lullaby.
Peace. Be still Little One.
I will cry more tears. I will wonder and question and call out to God some more. There is visitation and a funeral and seeing others who mourn Katie yet to happen. I will need another lullaby to be sure.
Today though, I am so thankful for the lullaby of peace.
Good night Katie.