A Lament

Well over a year ago I wrote out a lament following the pattern of Psalm 88. In some Bibles this chapter is entitled "A Cry of Desperation". I know that cry well. I have come back to this regularly in those moments when the heaviness and weariness threaten to consume me. I share this with you in hopes that you too will know that the laments of scripture can be your own. 

Verses 1-5: I know who you are and what you can do, but even so (especially so) my days and nights are spent crying out prostrate before you. God, do I have your attention? Are you listening? There is no soul so full of trouble as the one who has buried a child. A precious part of me now rests in a grave. This is indeed the deepest pit of pain and sorrow I have known; it is the pit every parent fears. I have no strength; there's nothing left in me. I feel dead. No, that's not right. Death would be a reprieve. This hurts too much to be dead. 

Lord, God of my salvation, I cry out before you day and night. May my prayer reach your presence; listen to my cry. For I have had enough troubles, and my life is near Sheol. I am counted among those going down to the pit. I am like a man without strength, abandoned among the dead. I am like the slain lying in the grave, whom you no longer remember, and who are cut off from your care. (1-5)

Verses 6-8: There is no question of your sovereignty, O God, or responsibility in the matter as evidenced by "YOU have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths." I did not end up here in these dark depths without your knowledge, your consent. That is both comforting and painful. "YOU have overwhelmed me with all your waves." I am drowning in tears of sorrow and pain. Initially, I could not get my head above water, nor did I want to. These are YOUR waves, as none are outside your dominion. Maybe if the waves belonged to an enemy, they'd be less hurtful somehow? Although, when I really consider it, there is a comfort in knowing all power and dominion are yours. "You have taken from me" my youngest child. I do not grieve where she is nor who she is with. I grieve her final moments in this world; they'll haunt me until the day I too die. I grieve for us left behind, the wait, the pain which ravages our family, and the rippling effects death has on everything. Women see me, and I am a visual reminder of every mommy and daddy's nightmare. This does not make me good company for the masses. Albeit the masses are not good company for me; they are reminders of who and what we lost. People step away, go quiet. It's easier for them, and some days it's easier for me rather than having to put forth the energy to manage a relationship that doesn't know what to do with suffering. It's enough to get out of bed each day. I cannot carry others' awkwardness over my pain. 

You have put me in the lowest part of the Pit, in the darkest places, in the depths. Your wrath weighs heavily on me; you have overwhelmed me with all your waves. You have distanced my friends from me; you have made me repulsive to them. I am shut in and cannot go out. (6-8)

Verses 8-10: "I am confined and cannot escape; my eyes are dim with grief. I call to you, O Lord, every day; I spread out my hands to you." There is no escaping the sorrow and grief save but going HOME myself. Our eyes will forever carry shadows of pain. I spread out my empty hands to you, hands that no longer hold my youngest child. There is nothing which so emphatically teaches me we have no real hold on anything as watching my child leave this world. I am in this cavernous pit, calling daily, blinded by tears and pain, reaching out to you from the darkest depths with outstretched hands. Some say time heals the wounds. That's a lie, but not one from this pit. Anyone having been here knows it isn't true. Eternity will heal my wounds, not time. Others say the pain gets easier with time, but that's not true either. Our capacity to carry the pain grows by your mercy, but the pain does not diminish. We learn to live and breathe with the pain, to carry other things with the pain. 

My eyes are worn out from crying. Lord, I cry out to you all day long; I spread out my hands to you. Do you work wonders for the dead? Do departed spirits rise up to praise you? Will your faithful love be declared in the grave, your faithfulness in Abaddon? Will your wonders be known in the darkness or your righteousness in the land of oblivion? (9-12)

Verses 11-12: "Is your love declared in the grave, your faithfulness in destruction? Are your wonders known in the place of darkness?" Known by whom? By my youngest child, Abigail? Indeed! She never knew such love as when you carried her home. But what about beside that too small casket and too small grave? What about when the grave isn't yours, but you wish it were? Yes. Knowing and declaring your love and faithfulness from the dark places is a necessity. It is here where love and faithfulness can be clouded by depths of darkness, pain, and sorrow. 

But I call to you for help, Lord; in the morning my prayer meets you. Lord, why do you reject me? Why do you hide your face from me? (13-14)

Verses 13-14: I call to you for help, Lord. My life is summarized as a daily cry for help. Yet even in the habitual, constant cry the Psalmist never asks, "why me?". "Why this pit?" Though he does ask, "where are you, God?" Your presence takes precedence over the "why". There is no "why" I can withstand in the absence of your presence. 

From my youth, I have been suffering and near death. I suffer your horrors; I am desperate. Your wrath sweeps over me; your terrors destroy me. They surround me like water all day long; they close in on me from every side. You have distanced loved one and neighbor from me; darkness is my only friend. (15-16)

Verses 15-18: "I have suffered YOUR horrors; I am desperate. Your wrath has swept over me. Your terrors have destroyed me. All day long they surround me like a flood. Sorrow has completely engulfed me." You have taken my precious girl. In her place Grief and all its companions now reside. The darkness is my closest friend. 

To stop here will likely make many uncomfortable. Yet, this is where the Psalmist, the inspired Word of God, ends this chapter, this "prayer of desperation". I end here too. There is no need to wrap it in a tidy "hallelujah, it's all going to be okay", thus I will not pressure myself nor anyone else to do so. It takes great faith (along with prayer for deeper faith still) and deep trust to end with acknowledging God's sovereignty in the circumstances of great loss and ensuing darkness. How can we do this? Because as seen in verse one, the reason he (the Psalmist) and I-WE- can stop here with acknowledgment of darkness is because we start by reminding ourselves who God is- even from the depths of the darkest pit. 

Oh Lord, the God who saves, day and night I cry out to you. (1) 

One can sing from the pit of darkness or by the light of the mountain. The song from the pit is one of desperation sung in a key often disconcerting to those on higher grounds. The songs and prayers from deep pits of sorrow are intentional, yet not always comfortable. 

In the next chapter, Psalm 89, the author goes on to say, "I will sing of the Lord's great love forever": even in the darkness. "With my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations." It will be a mournful tune without giddiness or crescendo. From the pit I will declare your love stands firm forever and that you established your faithfulness in Heaven itself. I'll do so either in a hoarse whisper or a guttural wail and with tears soaking my cheeks. I will NOT sing as though death and darkness; loss or longing have no sting this side of Heaven. That simply isn't true. But I will sing. And you, my God, my Father, will listen. And you will sing with me, filling in the parts I long to sing, yet cannot as I await my lips and broken heart to catch up with Truth.