malaise

October 2010

This centuries old French word has been apt for me lately. I feel uncomfortable, uneasy, out of sorts, emotionally unwell. I cannot put a finger on the source, and that bothers me. The connection to grief is unclear, undefined. Akin to vague guilt or sense of failure, it seems to underlie all of my surface moods; I return there whether I want to or not. I think I should be fine, but that is simply not the case.

It's interesting to me to discover that malaise is used as a medical term, indicating oncoming infection or disease. That gets me thinking about what infectious sickness of heart is sneaking into my emotional fatigue. It may help me to identify the germs that invade when I'm in an ongoing, no-end-in-sight trial. These "germs" are familiar to most of us:

Depression: One of the biggest problems I have with depression is owning up to it. Where's my joy in the Lord? Boom! Immediate guilt. The mysterious ways of the Lord confuse me. I feel like a dog in the pick-up, ignorant of which way my master may turn the wheel and unsuccessful in bracing myself. However, the Lord knows I cannot foresee the future, and that the element of shock is part of my trial. The Psalms are full of honest outpouring of discouragement and dismay. I am not the only saint to struggle with this numbing factor of trial. The faster I run, walk, or crawl to the Lord with my depression, the faster He can remind me of Who He is and how He loves me. "Pour out your hearts before Him, you people. God is a refuge for us." Psalm 62:8

Lord, help me bring my depression to You.

Fear: It was not immediately obvious to me that grief brings the fear of loss. When the Lord removed important people from my life, I realized the hard truth that He may require anything of me. Now I battle anxiety about what shoe will fall next. It's the true test of whether I believe both God's goodness and His protectiveness, that no truly harmful thing will befall me, even though I have received a terrible wound. It's like waking up during emergency surgery, unaware that the surgeon is trying to save my life. He is battling cancers in my soul, or self-inflicted damage, that I do not fully comprehend. All I feel is pain and terror, not comprehending the good purposes of the surgeon. That is the true lesson for me-- I must believe the character and expertise of my Surgeon-- that He is good, and He is love. No event of life changes that truth. "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You." Psalm 56:3

Lord, help me bring all my fear to You and hide in Your good character.

Fatigue: Some things just never seem to end. The reality is that some people face trials that will not end in this lifetime. This is most apparent to me when I consider those who are born with physical handicaps, or paralyzed by a tragic accident. I am never surprised to hear that these people often consider suicide. The loss at the core of grief is also interminable. It's an emotionally exhausting perspective--the one you lost will be gone for the rest of your life. It can bring desperation or a hard heart. That's why Jesus' words are bracing: "These things I have spoken to you that in me you might have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." John 16:33 It's as if Jesus is saying-- Don't expect a smooth ride, My beloved. This world can be a very hard place. Your rest is in My overcoming. I have done this world. I have prevailed and won. Take heart in Me. The story is not over yet. Trust Me for the good ending.

Lord, help me to receive Your comfort when I am exhausted, and to be cheered to remember You are still at work, bringing all things together for good. (Romans 8:28)

Confusion: The word "why?" is so short-- and so potent. It can become a black hole for the soul. Why them? Why did it happen? Why did it happen that way? Why me? Why isn't this over? When we are dealing with unchangeable elements of the past, this question rarely produces satisfaction. It only makes us circle the drain and spiral into a fruitless vortex. It would be better to ask the other "w" questions: What can I do to move forward? Who can I call on to pray for me? Where can I go to be edified and built up in fellowship? What scriptures talk about confusion? Who in the Word experienced discouragement? Where is my true hope?

Lord, help me to run away from "Why?" and grab hold of the questions that will lead me back to You. (Romans 13:12)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 2012

I started this entry ("Malaise") many months ago, and was just not ready to post it. Emerging from the rough first phases of grief has brought a realization that malaise can be a dangerous corridor of grief. When you are struggling with overwhelming grief, you may tend to make bad decisions about the practical aspects of life because nothing seems very important except basic emotional survival. However, this blindness to pressing matters can bring its own griefs. If you are grieving, I suggest you ask someone close to you (who is not as affected by your loss) to monitor you a little, perhaps keep you accountable. Are you eating right? Taking your medicines and vitamins? Getting some physical exercise? Tending to responsibilities, paper work, chores? Paying your bills? Checking the oil in your car? Opening your mail? And of course, staying in the Word and fellowship? Sometimes a little self-distrust can be healthy, if you prayerfully evaluate your behavior and make changes.

If you are close to someone experiencing grief, you can minister to them by watching for pitfalls that they may be oblivious to. Pray zealously for those who you see stepping into trouble; they are fragile and may need your help. The words of Annie Herring's song come to mind:

Number me in your prayers
Let me be among those you cry out for
Won't you number me in your prayers
And lay me at the feet
Lay me at the feet of Jesus

Number me in your prayers
Let me be among those you cry out for
Cover my life with words of love
And lay me at the feet
Lay me at the feet of Jesus

I'm going through a time
Where I don't know my way
And I must lean on others
Like a growing child
When hurt or confused
Looks up to its sisters and brothers

So number me in your prayers
Let me be among those you cry out for
Number me in your prayers
And lay me at the feet
Lay me at the feet of Jesus

-Annie Herring

surprised

The grief process is often referred to with identifying words: shock, bargaining, denial, anger, acceptance, etc. I don't remember hearing much about the reason these labels exist. However, I have learned that these tidy terms come in handy because grief is messy, outrageous, unpredictable, disillusioning. Grief is a sniper, because it strikes at surprising moments, and takes you down. You're enjoying the diversion of the home decor aisle, and a ceramic duck undoes you, because Mom loved wild ducks. You drive by a golf course, and weep suddenly, because the friend who was like a father can't possibly be there. You come across the smiling picture of a beloved family member, and feel your stomach seize up, startled again that he took his own life. Undoubtedly those who grieve recognize these ambushes that expose our vulnerability. They are different from the high hurdles of anniversaries and holidays. It's hard to hunker down for cover when you don't know the blow is coming.

Nevertheless, the Apostle Peter tells us: Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. (I Peter 4:12) This seems to go against reason. Of course we are stunned when pain pierces our lives. I know I felt undone, thrown into a murky cloud of emotional survival. There was a lot of collateral damage, and my own reactions dumbfounded me. In every situation, things were surprisingly complicated at some level, for different reasons. It was a strange, unfriendly country. So what do you mean, Peter? More importantly, what do You mean, Lord?

The Word tells us repeatedly, Do not be afraid. Fear not. Yet the natural human response to certain stimuli is fear. Because we react that way instinctively, this admonition from the Lord is comforting, reminding us we can still trust Him. He addresses our fear head-on. I think the Lord is bracing us in a similar way in 1 Peter. The natural human response to loss is astonishment. We are propelled into an unfamiliar, barren landscape; there is no turning back. The one we love is absent. We crumple, astounded, and the Lord speaks to assure us that He is still in control. He is unchanging in His goodness. He is love. In the valley of the shadow of death, He is with me.

As I emerge from the darkest tunnels of those immediate days, I find that the Lord is asking me a significant question. It touches on His centrality and Lordship in my life. It has to do with Him being more than an aspirin or fashion accessory, or a compartment of my life. It does not bring answers for the many questions I have; it is about priorities. It is not unlike the questions He asked Peter on a Galilean beach: Do you love Me? Do you love Me more than these?

resilient peace

She looked at me intently as we sat on the back porch of her lovely, Oregon home. The river below and the hushed evening noises were a well-crafted soundtrack to her words. She spoke of "the dark night of the soul" and studied my eyes to see if I was tracking with her. I don't think I comprehended then, but I felt her burden and her words stayed with me.

Since then, I have become acquainted with the dark night of the soul. Some call it a wilderness experience; it feels heavier. Grief and confusion, anger and misery combine in a potent cocktail that is numbing, heartbreaking, devastating. Life becomes one big crying out to the Lord, because He is the only possible arbiter of a raging inner firestorm. His words become the only lifeboat in the smothering waves.

"Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you....Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." (John 14:27)

The confident tone of this amazing promise would be laughable if it was not spoken by Jesus, on His resolute journey to the Cross. His dark night was at Gethsemane; He is with us at ours. Because He has been there, He knows the way. In the claustrophobic darkness, that answers our greatest need. Which way do I turn, Lord? Turn to Me.

"Dark hours come to us all; ... We will be in a state of continual dread....unless we have learned to trust in the perpetual presence of Him who can make and keep a "great calm" within the soul. Only let nothing come to you that you will not instantly hand over to Him--all petty worries, all crushing difficulties, all inability to believe." - F.B. Meyer

I cast my cares on You, Lord.

James

Every verse convicting. That's you, James. What was it like, growing up with Jesus? One thing is for sure: you don't waste words. Did you learn that from your brother? Every phrase perfectly chosen, skillfully directed.

I need to be more like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here's a link to an excellent teaching re: James, by Cathe Laurie:

http://podcast.harvestlive.net/wbf/2010/WT100923.mp3