Blessed Be Your Name.

If no one's told you yet, grief isn't linear. Seriously. You think you've 'gotten over it', or that you're not as much of a hot mess as you were 6 months ago, and that all changes in a heart beat. Or for me, in a song line.

I was sitting in our church's youth group, and we were graced by a friend who led us in musical worship. We sang a few songs, and I surprised myself by branching out and harmonizing as well as adding runs and such to what we were singing.

We began to sing, "Blessed Be Your Name", a song affirming that God's name will be blessed despite the circumstances, whether joyful or filled with grief. I remembered singing this song in college, grateful for something familiar.

We began to sing the last verse, "You give and take away." Something in my heart hurt. It was a soft tinge in my chest, but enough to draw me close to tears. I thought of Rachelle, and how she's been taken away. Given, yes. Taken, yes. I had to remember what we were singing, that God is good in the middle of joy and the middle of grief. He is to be blessed.

I didn't realize how difficult it would be to finish the song. To continue to bless, engage, and struggle with the reality of Rachelle and that she's actually gone.

The struggle is apparent in my journal entry from last month:

  I still can't believe it. Suicide. Why, lady? What was so terrible you/we couldn't work through it? Weren't we enough to get you through? Or had we done such a job of not caring for you well that we drove you to this?
  The grief, the questions still surprise me. I feel a deep pang of grief when I fall asleep sometimes. I silently cry into my pillow as I fall asleep. The sadness may never go away. My want to remember and honor you, either. I don't want to forget what you mean to me. Your voice, your laughter, your annoying way of making me laugh.
  When do you let go? When do you stop fighting the loss, the fact that its happened and accept it?

 Blessed be Your name, Jesus.