Jersey Shore

I remember going to the Jersey Shore when I was a little girl. It was so much fun to play on the beach, hang out on the boardwalk and jump in the waves. One time, I was playing in the water and the waves were big, but I wasn't out very far so I wasn't worried. But a huge wave came and knocked me down and wave after wave crashed into me and I couldn't get up and then the undertow grabbed me. I remember being underwater and not knowing which way was up or which way was down and not being able to get out of the water and panicking because I really, really wanted and needed to breathe!

I feel the same way now some days with the sadness. For the most part, the waves of sadness roll in, but the water I'm standing in isn't too deep and I can manage them alright. But every once in a while a wave knocks me down and the sadness pulls me under and I just can't breathe. When it happened at the Jersey Shore, my dad just reached down and yanked me out of the water. He probably doesn't even remember it. For what was such a scary and momentous thing for me was not a big deal at all for him; he was right by me and the water was only knee deep for him. He knew I was okay and he could save me.

I have a feeling that God feels the same way about my sadness. I am not drowning, only under for a bit and He is always right there to pluck me from the dark waters. I know that I will not drown in this sadness. I know that we will make it through this dark time in our lives. Even when we can't tell up from down, even when we can't breathe, even when it feels like the undertow is taking us out to sea, we have hope. We have hope in God. I not only hope and wait expectantly for eternal life in heaven with Hubs and Little Man and Jameson and you, but I also have hope for my life on this earth. I wrote a while back when Jameson was still alive about how God can redeem anything. And that even means my broken heart. I will always miss and love my Jameson. He will always be mine and a part of me is already in heaven with him now. But this sadness and doubt and guilt that wash over me so regularly now are NOT my Jameson and holding tight to them does not bring me closer to him or to God or to Hubs and Little Man. I want to hold on to Jameson, but not grief. I want to remember his smiles and laughter, not my pain or his suffering. And when I look out over big water, instead of being battered and beaten down, I want to think about jumping the waves, safely in my Father's arms.