Nature’s Lament

Nature's Lament Oil 12x20 2020 Leigh Fitz

When the weather mirrors my sorrow with gentle rain, I’m grateful. It’s as if nature is being empathetic. Fog roams quietly through pine, silently watering the trees as if it doesn’t want to interrupt, honoring a solemn moment of grief.

I have come to the belief that weeping over loss isn’t wrong; it’s essential. Time may heal wounds, but somehow I never let the memory slip entirely from my grasp. Grief is inconvenient and demands my attention—never caring if I’m exhausted. It shows up uninvited and stays longer than I would have liked.

Grieving over loss does not nullify nor diminish my trust in God; rather, it enhances it. When life is breaking off pieces of my heart that already feel dry and cracked, God sees me, but, at times, I have difficulty seeing Him. When grief catches me off guard, I find myself “pounding the chest of God” with questions or anger, moaning, or drenching a bed with tears of sadness. The heart laments over its fractured state, unsure how it can be mended and crying out to God with indistinct mutterings. Though I may not feel His arms of comfort, I know that God is holding me as He weeps as well. His tears, full of grace, seep down deep, touching my wounds of worry, replenishing my heart with His endless supply of comfort. He understands the sadness, is acquainted with grief, and wants to sit with me so we can mourn together. I believe He does this with you as well. Tears in the presence of God, tears of hurt, pain, or sorrow, feel like a form of prayer—a lament. This wordless interaction causes a mysterious closeness to God, allowing sorrow to be held by His tender arms of understanding. A truthful abiding.

I have journeyed with close girlfriends who have experienced horrific losses that I can’t even begin to fathom. I have stood beside them at graves, made flower arrangements to spread over caskets, and attempted to dispense healing words, but who other than God can tenderly embrace the soul of a person and understand their pain fully? Over the years, I’ve seen in their loss the quiet resolve to keep trusting God even when life turns pitch black. It’s been an honor for me to be a witness to their lives as they have walked through steep valleys of shadows and death, emerging full of both wisdom and compassion as they effectively comfort others in need.

How, Lord, can I be thankful in the midst of sorrow? Walking out into the sun-filled day with a smile on my face feels phony when my heart aches. I’m not sure I will “get over” loss, but I will get on with it. Today, I will attempt to make a space for gratefulness to sit alongside my sorrow. I’m longing for the day when the fog lifts, tears and sorrow cease to exist, and I’m turned forever toward the Light.

“We don’t yet see things. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing Him directly just as He knows us!”

(1 Corinthians 13: 12, MSG)

“Praise be to the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles.”

(2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV)

— Art and Soul: An Artist's Reflections by Leigh Fitz