When Your Heart is Weary and in Need of Rest
A recent text message from my son released a floodgate of emotions. HIs words, few but powerful, were: My friend Matthew died. Of course Matthew isn’t his real name, but his tragedy is a horrible reality. My heart hurts for my son, his friend’s family, and all who knew him.
Matthew’s complicated story is riddled with heartache. But during his younger years when his heart pulsed with life and pushed the boundaries of gravity and parental guidance, he welcomed my son into his circle of friends and invited him to a church youth group. My son was grateful to feel like he fit somewhere. But he and I knew that Matthew liked to flirt with danger.
It’s been a few years since they saw each other, but my son’s Facebook tribute reminds me of how important Matthew’s friendship was at one time:
“This one hurts. Growing up I always admired (Matthew) for his confidence, strong sense of individuality, willpower and the way he went against the grain. I wanted to be like him.
In a time where it was hard to fit in, he and his friends accepted me and made me feel it was okay to be different. Despite his hard exterior, he would listen to my problems and give his advice (after cracking a joke about it first of course).
I am saddened that I’ll never get to wonder what he’s up to, randomly run into him and catch up, hear his laugh, share music, or reminisce about the good times. RIP (Matthew)”
The reality of Matthew's death is painful. I won’t pretend to know what his family is going through.
And there are so many others who share the same loss. If you're one of them, I’m sorry.
Following my son's news about Matthew, I found comfort from Psalm 147:3:
“ He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. “
It’s not a quick fix; healing doesn’t happen overnight. But I believe God heals you over time and with great kindness and compassion.
I believe grief produces death within. Grief changes our focus. It winterizes a soul waiting for spring. Grief is a burden, a wound, a path you travel on the way back to life.
Grief is a heavy load that robs you of rest. Anxious thoughts torture you in the night. Unanswered questions hollow you out with sorrow. Deep mourning blocks the joy that should come in the morning.
But God longs to comfort the grieving. He is in the business of carrying your cares, bearing your burdens, and wrapping your wounds.
He promises in Matthew 11:28:
“Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Rest for your weary heart. Rest for your anxious nights. Rest for your searching soul.
The word rest in Greek refers to a pause, intermission, and refresh.
Rest from bad news. Rest from sickness. Rest from carrying heavy loads.
Who doesn't need a double portion of rest right now?
Today, I sense a base layer of sadness because of the pandemic which makes sad news even sadder. Maybe you sense this too.
You may ask, "What am I supposed to do with all the layers of grief?" Because we weren’t created to carry so much grief. We weren’t created to stuff all the bad news deep into our souls and then carry on as if all is well.
Like a colander, we must allow the pain of this world to fluidly pass through our hearts and into God’s capable hands.
God allows for pain and suffering to pass through us on its way to Him. Opening the floodgates of our hearts to let out our deepest pain is the key to getting through the darkest winter of our souls.
Throwing your burdens into God’s strong and loving arms frees you to take on comfort, peace, and freedom.
Release your grip on your heartache. Open your hands to set your burdens free. Lay down the grief that keeps weighing you down. When you do, "this will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones." (Prov. 3:8)
While we wait and search for rest for our weary hearts, God will tenderly care for us.
His promises are true: “I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint.” (Jer. 31:25, NIV)
Waiting with you,
Susan