The Seed and the Psalm

The little sweet pea seeds are in the ground. I must let them sit in the dirt; I must wait on the weather and God to transform them. There is little I can do to speed up the process or even check on it. This transformation from seed to sprout is something that must go on inside the seed as it sits alone in the dark soil.

I have felt like that little seed before. Covered with dirt; alone in the dark.

Even when there are those who care for me and make sure I have sunlight and water, I was not sure that I would ever become more than the lifeless shell I was at that moment.

I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with weeping. Psalm 6:6

In grief counseling, my pastor had me write a psalm. I found it the other day, folded and hidden away in my Bible. The paper was still crisp and clean, untouched and avoided. Perhaps the pain expressed in it needed time, just as my sweet pea seeds do.

Even as I read the words now, the back of my throat constricts and the tears form. How can this still hurt so much?

There is hope hidden in the pain; a willingness to let God lead me out of the darkness. There is faith that a plant will grow, but that space is dark and lonely.

I thought I would share it with you, maybe expose this dark space to a little light.

Betsy’s Psalm of Lament (1/25/20)

You are with me, Lord, but this is hard.

It hurts my heart, my soul, my body.

               It challenges who I am.

You must have some plan, some good in mind,

               but how will you bring Joy out of this?!

How long will this hurt? How long before I feel joy? Or Love?

               How long before “normal” returns to me?

               It all feels so wrong without him.

It is tempting to just give up, give in;

               to shut the door, lock myself in and die.

But I will trust in You, Lord.

               I will turn my face to You

               and see Your presence all around me.

I will open the door and go outside this painful space.

You have surrounded me with friends.

               I will let them hold me, and I will sing Your praise.

We are so uncomfortable around grief, around pain. If expressed too openly, we doubt its authenticity. We fear doing or saying the wrong thing, adding insult to injury. We don’t have the words to express grief or comfort the grieving. Odd, really, since we have all experienced loss since childhood. How has the loss of a toy, a pet, a grandparent, not trained us for losing a dream, a parent or a spouse? Why do I find my own pain so difficult to expose? Is not grief as common as seeds in the ground?

I will admit fear in even sharing this with you. This is my space; I am not sure I want you in it. I fear you may take this a cry for help, but it is not. This is simply an admission that I do cry, as do most of you.

Very slowly, God has lifted me from that dark space. God has surrounded me with the warmth of friends, the light of His Word, and the life giving water of prayer. The seed of grief did crack open, allowing a tender sprout to reach for the sun, reach for the Son.

Amazing, really.

A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26

I go out to the garden every day in anticipation of sweet pea sprouts pushing through the ground. I start every morning in prayer with God, in anticipation of what He is growing in me. And I will sing God’s praise.

Betsy