It is six months to the day, on a Friday, since Brent died. Generally, I am doing better than I would have expected, thanks to the grace of God and the prayers and help from my dear family, friends, neighbors and those from the two churches where I attend and work. I have my moments, and in the midst of one today, I was so grateful to find my heart cry (which I know is not unlike others grieving loss) in the depths of a series of poems on the Stations of the Cross by
Malcolm Guite. A copy follows here. Be blessed, and remember the Lord is near.
IX Jesus falls the third time
He weeps with you and with you he will stay
When all your staying power has run out
You can't go on, you go on anyway.
He stumbles just beside you when the doubt
That always haunts you, cuts you down at last
And takes away the hope that drove you on.
This is the third fall and it hurts the worst,
This long descent through darkness to depression
From which there seems no rising and no will
To rise, or breathe or bear your own heart beat.
Twice you survived; this third will surely kill,
And you could almost wish for that defeat
Except that in the cold hell where you freeze
You find your God beside you on his knees.
