Grief in Rebuilding
*A sip of coffee or tea and a slower-paced morning are welcome while reading this lengthier-than-usual blog.
Grief.
It can’t be rushed,
It must be consumed in doses,
Lest it puts one in harm’s way.
Grief.
It pricks,
It numbs,
It quiets.
Grief.
It doesn’t settle to score,
It must reach its mature state,
For it to let go.
Grief.
It can’t be measured,
Timed,
Or recklessly accounted for.
It is not a controlled variable.
Grief.
It is a story unraveled in time,
Seasons,
And moments.
Only then can its judgment be appeased.
Grief.
It has a purpose,
But it won’t last always.
A home is normally considered one’s safe place, dwelling, territory, residence, abode, or haven. It’s the place where most of us wrestle with the idea of leaving in the morning. Often, we peel off our comforters in quiet resentment, as the workday awaits us. It’s the place we rush to leave for when the clock strikes 4:55 P.M., and sometimes the place we daydream about on our commutes and on Friday afternoons. I usually say, “If my home is a mess, more than likely so is my mind.” I like to keep things neat, organized, and in place. Last weekend, on FaceTime with my friends, a speck of dust caught my eye, and I couldn’t unsee it. I told my girls to pause for the cause, as I located the broom for a quick fix. Two weeks ago at work, I was itching in my seat to mop my office. Since the last janitor had resigned, the floor had been dirty for several weeks. I tiptoed to the janitor's supply closet and said a quick prayer. To my pleasant surprise, the door was unlocked, and a beautiful mop greeted me. Sadly, I couldn’t find any Fabuloso or bleach, so I settled for my all-purpose Lysol cleaner in my office. I put all of the moving furniture out so I could scrub away without restrictions. Sure, I could’ve gotten caught (I’m sure I did anyway, since there’s a nice camera in the hall lol), but I needed cleaning and for my office to be spotless for all to be right again in my world, or at least that’s how I felt. You see, no one wants their residence to be cluttered, restricted, or in a disastrous state. Yet, life happens, and we can’t always control the outcome.
As a result, when the mess happens, and we have to rebuild or reconstruct, we muster the excitement and courage to make our home cozy again. We know if we dread it all at the start, we won’t make haste. So, we say things like, “It’ll be great,” “I can’t wait,” and “I’m looking forward to the outcome.” Little do we know that the mess will only get messier, and the outcome can and will take longer than our expected timeframe. For example, when a person decides to renovate their home, they must prepare for the mental strain and stress, the beauty of trusting what they cannot see, all that will go wrong, risks and damages, and, more importantly, they must grieve what they had before and everything it came with and what it could’ve been. For this reason, many homeowners experience buyer's remorse: “the sense of regret, anxiety, or guilt felt after a purchase, often stemming from cognitive dissonance when high-cost or high-stakes decisions conflict with one's expectations or budget”(Wikipedia). Expectation can become a silent killer during a prolonged rebuilding season, and it can last even after.
When we dive into the Bible, in the book of Nehemiah, chapter one, we meet a grief-stricken intercessor, cupbearer, and soon-to-be rebuilder, Nehemiah. He is mourning, praying, and fasting for the will of God to be done for the people of Israel. Nehemiah repents on behalf of his people for disobeying God’s law and prays for the favor that God will remember them and rebuild Jerusalem, which now lies in ruins, a broken wall burned with fire. Nehemiah is prepared; he expects the challenges and the warfare. Yet, the people who survived the exile and are living in its tethered conditions require some guidance and hope. Nehemiah encourages them, “The God of heaven will give us success” Nehemiah 2:20, NIV). Through each opposition, attempts of intimidation, and the outcry of injustice from the people, Nehemiah proceeds forward until the wall is completed and the people are settled in their towns. However, in Nehemiah 8, the priest Ezra stands above the people as he shares the word of God, and they begin to weep.
They are weeping, though the wall is rebuilt.
They are weeping, though they are settled in their towns.
They are weeping, though they have returned to God.
They are weeping, though they overcame the crushing wind and waves.
They are weeping, though they were given the victory over all their enemies.
They are weeping, though the Lord remembered them and covered their shame.
They wept.
Their cry reminds me of Jesus, who knew he would raise Lazarus from the dead. He knew the outcome and the glory the Father would receive with this miracle. Still, Jesus wept (John 11:35). His compassion, grief, and empathy could not be withheld.
In times of rebuilding, renewal, revival, renovation, and resurrection, there is a deep grief that must unravel for the sake of new wine (transformation).
Everything had come to fruition for the Jews; they were no longer homeless. Their dwelling place was kept, spotless, covered, and cozy once more. They didn’t have to fear that their enemies would creep upon them at midnight due to a broken-down wall. Yet their souls had to catch up to what had happened in the natural (physical) world. It’s the soul that carries the weight of what we’ve endured the most. That is why David said in Psalms 23, “He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake” (ESV).
Our soul is our home, a temple, and the internal sanctuary. If it gets cluttered, it affects our spiritual habitat and, eventually, our life’s routine. Therefore, it must be renewed. To be renewed, it must face the state of its ruin and how it came to be (renovation). It must rely on the word of God. The Jews are not just weeping at the cost of rebuilding; they’re experiencing buyer's remorse due to the guilt and shame of their disobedience. They had failed to uphold and keep holy the Sabbath, a day of rest (Exodus 20:8), for 490 years (70 years x 7 years per cycle = 490). This is why they went into exile for 70 years. Still, God does not condemn us. His word is a two-edged sword, and it convicts with hopes we will turn away from sin and follow the narrow path. Nevertheless, the weight of failure, expectations, and prolonged weariness makes it facile for the enemy to access our homes (spirit). Their weeping is not in vain. It must be released, but they must also recognize the God who is greater than defeat, stronger than failure, mightier than the roar of satan.
Ezra starts the movement of cutting through their wall of grief, “This day is holy to the Lord your God. Do not mourn or weep” (Nehemiah 8:9). “Nehemiah said, 'Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our God. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). The Levites agreed and calmed and comforted the people as well, “Be still, for this is a holy day. Do not grieve” Nehemiah 8:11 (NIV).
The atmosphere shifts.
Their grief was real, but God was in the room, and their souls knew their maker, and it would not resist. Sometimes, in the grief, you’ll have to power through His strength. It doesn’t make your pain any less important; it just means letting go will prove sufficient for your soul. So, they surrendered in verse 12: “Then all the people went away to eat and drink, to send portions of food and to celebrate with great joy, because they now understood the words that had been made known to them.
Verse 16 says, they had not celebrated with jubilee like this since the days of Joshua. Can you believe how long their joy was suppressed!
Just as a mom in labor cries in relief and joy when her baby is born and forgets the anguish, and a homeowner rejoices when the vision comes to complete fruition and tosses the buyer’s remorse to the wind after a good night’s rest. So will our joy come in the morning when day breaks as we surrender to what was torn down and rebuilt for His glory.
Don’t be afraid to grieve, but please don’t be afraid to rejoice. I’m praying for you.
Be Encouraged,
Love Monica
