Tuesday, May 13, 2014

And so I write...

Write about it...it's the only way to sort through the clashing, banging dissident symphony that sometimes is my brain. This brain that God gave us is both a blessing and a curse: a blessing in that we are the only creatures of his creation with the power to think, to reason; a curse, in that we can not shut it down...at least not without great discipline.

Today, my undisciplined brain is concocting..actually re-concocting for the thousandth time, the agony of losing a son. It doesn't take much for this movie to start replaying, even after some 20 odd years. But hearing of another mother's loss, especially in an automobile accident, is a sure trigger and this morning I am devastated for another Mom. And so I write.

I can think of a thousand things to that I would say to my daughter's friend, but time has taught me that these things, this wisdom that I have garnered over two decades is not what a grieving person in the midst of personal agony needs to hear. For years I thought that God gave me some special power to speak to other mothers in their tragedies, but that is not the way He works. He knows there are no words to say. There is no Grief for Dummies to refer...no slick tricks to get through it. And so I write.

Last night I prayed for my daughter who lost her brother years ago as she drove to visit her friend. "It's okay to go do that, isn't it Mom?" Yes, my sweet girl. Go and "weep with those who weep." No words. Your presence is all that's needed. And I will write.

This is where we rail against God.  We shake our fists in the air and ask why. Only through years of sorting through this clashing, banging dissident symphony of thoughts and prayers have I come to understand, as cruel as it sounds, that's life. We are born, we live and in our time, we return to dust. Some quicker than others. Time is your friend, but I can not say that to her.  She doesn't need to hear it.  Nor does she need any preachy Romans 8:28 version of her tragedy, even though it is my own personal Bread of Life.  I KNOW for a fact that God can do it.  She doesn't, and it's okay.

And so I write.  Not to depress my scant readership, but to work it out in my own head. Her grief is my grief. All those Nigerian mothers...isn't their devastation ours as well?  How do we reconcile the horrors of life? Some are calls to action.  Some are just calls to prayer.  Life cannot be lived apart from hope...hope is the one thing that God gave us along with our clanging, banging symphonies of a brain. Without it we are no different from the creepy crawly things of the earth. It's how He set us apart.

Hope is eternal. Love is for today. So if you've a mind to, quiet your clanging banging brain for a moment and pray, thinks good thoughts, whatever it is that you do, for my daughter's friend. Go ahead and be angry on behalf of the Nigerian mothers. Go ahead and rail and shake your fist in the air.  It's okay.

I'll write.

Laurel. Writes.


  1. Thank you for your words...and the time away from the days events to contemplate and pray...may all beings be free...love you Laurel

  2. I can only imagine what it would be like to lose a child, and for this I am eternally grateful.

  3. How wise you are my friend. You understand as only a Mother who has lost a child can, there is no understanding. I was not angry with GOD but hold tightly to HIS promise. I stopped asking why a while ago, in the end I will be in prefect peace with my son and it will be of no concern.
    You are a lovely woman with a beautiful heart and soul Laurel and I know our Lord looks kindly on you.


Thanks for visiting my blog. I appreciate all those who share and leave their comments very much. Laurel

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