The View From Down Here

Posted on May 7, 2008
Filed Under Fear, Faith |

Still processing Audrey’s passing:

Now that my life’s doings have quieted down a bit since Audrey died and has resumed some new sense of normal, I’ve been trying to pay attention to me and God and where we are with one another . . . I find myself in new, unfamiliar territory as the result.

The past few years of my relationship with Him can be largely characterized as fairly carefree, celebratory, and nearly reckless with regards to the freedom I have felt to dance, sing, play, move, express and just be in front of Him, with Him and because of Him. See prior to my time of exuberance, He, by His great grace, ushered me out of a depression that nearly killed me; He delivered my family from what seemed like a sure death; He mercifully, faithfully, and surely saved my husband’s soul through the love of Christ; and from those trials, He revealed a significant piece of my life’s purpose in that I began writing my first real songs during those dark moments miraculously. Something that I do now like breathing began when I felt I’d never breathe again.

So you can see why coming out of a season like that how I might be given just completely over to an uninhibited love fest, complete with lifted hands, a head thrown back, and a steady flow of tears of gratitude. I always found it weird when people would comment on my “freedom”during musical worship . . . if only they knew the reason for my joy . . . if only they knew that the reason I appreciate the light of Christ so much is because I stayed too long in the dark of despair and never want to go back there.

I’ve noticed that the season for that kind of expression of worship from me to my God is over and doesn’t fit right now, and that I am moving into a place that feels more formal, reverent, and even a little scary, like Old Testament fear. Since Audrey’s death I’ve found myself questioning just how well I really know God . . . and that question has left me without some basic bearings that once felt so sure, so grounded, so common.

What I know is that I prayed for Audrey, that she would know Christ, that she would walk with Him all the days of her life, that her life would give Him glory, that she would be healthy, and that we as her family would know how to love her well. And before you feel compelled to think about all the lovely platitudes that can apply here (she knows Christ now, she’s walking with Jesus right now, etc.) please know that while I trust that the intentions of statements like those are good, I find them utterly offensive and absolutely insubstantial in light of my present grief. Maybe later.

Audrey’s death has taught me that God, as good as I believe He is, is God and doesn’t really have to be accountable to anyone but Himself, that He is under no obligation to give us our hearts’ desires, and that He alone wields the power to do anything about anything or for anything. And, in the light of my grand daughter’s death, that doesn’t create warm fuzzies in my heart, but rather it strikes fear, caution, and suspicion. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not abandoning ship here . . . my hope is built on nothing less that Jesus’ blood and righteousness . . . but I feel like what I know about God now is inviting less singing and dancing and more bowing, repentance, and quiet. And maybe that’s alright. Maybe I became a little too familiar with the God who instructed Moses to take off his shoes before His presence. Maybe with my eyes downcast I can see more clearly the pierced feet that walked out of the grave and thereby allow me to walk without shame. Maybe.

Peace and Blessings,

Nic