When They're Gone

I haven’t seen my oldest son now for almost 18 months. He’s been incarcerated for nearly two years. My oldest daughter just got married this past spring; she eloped. The reality that she is gone now has been an unexpected grief, sneaking up on me and suddenly overtaking my heart. I knew she was planning to marry, but somehow the permanency of this change had not sunk in until now, after she’s gone and I can’t get her back. My youngest daughter still lives with us, though she is mostly gone now, pursuing work and school and the young man she loves. My 17 year old son sometimes comes in and out of our home physically, but relationally he’s far away. My youngest son, my baby, usually the only child at home, has grown up overnight it seems. He will soon turn 13, and is 5’8’’ tall and is becoming more of a man every day. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he needed me to hold his hand when he crossed the street? How I miss the days when my five beautiful children filled our home with laughter and noise and mess, and lots of hugs and kisses. What I wouldn’t give for one more day to snuggle up with them all again for a story on the couch.

Now, I am hounded by a loneliness that sends me checking my ipad numerous times a day in hopes someone has sent me a word of love. There’s a void. I struggle with lonely feelings of worthlessness—if I’m no longer needed here at home as a mother, what am I good for? I always felt a calling, a passion to be a mother. Now what? The high-stress work of managing the unpredictable, roller-coaster needs of a child in rebellion has given way to quiet days and my attention gravitates inward as I try to process the pain of loss. There remains the reality that any time another crisis could arise and consume my days, so I hesitate to move on to new endeavors. Meanwhile I wrestle with this void, this loneliness, and seek to rekindle old friendships that for years now have been sacrificed.

Longing for intimacy and comfort I cry out for Jesus to speak to me. The lie that comes is that I am alone, unable to draw the nourishment I crave from an invisible God. The truth is that I have been given a relationship with Jesus, through His death for my sins, that is just as nourishing as Jesus’ relationship was with the Father. Jesus said in John 10:14,15 “I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father…” I think that is the turning point of a relationship for me, when I know I have a friend—it is the point where they trust me enough to open their heart and let me know them too. Jesus’ prayer in the garden shortly before His death (John 17:20-26) was for intimacy with me and with you. He asked His Father for deep connection, oneness, intimate communion with each of us. That was what He wanted, what He died for, what He bought on the cross.

In John 16:32 Jesus says “But a time is coming, and has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home. You will leave me all alone. Yet I am not alone, for My Father is with Me.” Jesus, in the loss of earthly relationship, found comfort in His relationship with the Father. When those He loved left Him, He drew strength from the truth that the Father would never leave Him. He would never be alone. And He tells us that He has given us that same unshakable intimacy with Himself.

Jesus knows how I’m feeling tonight. He understands loneliness. He knows what it’s like to be left by those He loved, and to have to turn for comfort to an invisible Presence, and draw strength from the inaudible words of scripture. He chose to stand on the truth—“I am not alone, for My Father is with Me.” That was His comfort and it’s just as available to us. So, with every ounce of my faltering trust, that’s where I choose to stand. In Jesus I have a faithful, intimate friendship where He knows me completely and loves me as I am, and where He allows me to know Him too. I can trust Him to hold me up and lead me back into joy.

“Jesus, help me find my comfort in the Presence of my Father, just as You did.”