The Rock

I was the picture of confidence climbing up onto the gargantuan boulder and even jumping across the crevice to access potato chip rock, a sliver of stone that juts out into thin air and actually does resemble the shape of its namesake. But my bravado was highjacked by butterflies as my Adventure Sisters and I moved out onto the suspended rock. I grabbed hold of my friends and held on tight.

That isn’t my usual modus operandi. I’d like to blame it all on my foot surgery – I’m still not back to normal with my balance and strength, and you definitely want to be balanced when one slip could lead to big time badness. But it was more than that.

Even though I knew that sheet of granite was plenty strong enough to hold us up, to hold me up, I imagined it cracking, dropping us helplessly onto the rocks below. There was just this thin plane between me and nothing.

My grief, my missing Chandler with everything in me, feels like that vast expanse underneath. The only thing between me and falling headlong into big time badness that I can’t escape is God himself. With my feet planted firmly on the truth of His presence, His goodness, His joy, His strength, His provision, His love, I know I will be OK.

I can hurt. I can cry. I can be angry. I can feel, deeply feel, all the emotions that are attached to losing a piece of your heart and soul. And I will be OK.

Tonight at hot yoga, as we began the practice in child’s pose, I thought, “What is my word tonight?” Several came to mind. But the one I landed on, the one that just felt right, was “trust.” That was the word I held onto for that hour on my mat.

When I got home, I showered off my post-yoga sweat and sat down to write. This scripture jumped out at me: Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal (Isaiah 26:4).

Lord, you are my eternal Rock. You are strong enough to hold me, to hold all of my grief and every emotion that comes with it. Help me trust you. Always. And with everything. Amen.