A Cry for Comfort

Lord, my heart aches today.

I vacillate between a dull pain, forever noticeable, but just a constant background drum
“I miss them -- I miss them -- I miss them”
To a horrific swell of misery that hitches in my chest and the base of my throat without warning.
It’s a song on the radio that will send me over the edge.
Or a smell - of licorice, or pancakes, or perfume.
The memorial cards tucked into the back of my Bible.
A dream of their laugh.

Lord, I don’t even know who to call on anymore.
This is long past the point of “normal,” whatever “normal” is.
Shouldn’t these tidal waves be gone by now?
Can’t I just tread water in peace? Or float?
I don’t even know how to tell people that I’m still on the cusp of drowning some days.

Lord, how did Mary do this?
How did Mary sit at the foot of the cross and witness the atrocities,
Bury her Son,
And then, just...move right into rejoicing that He was Risen?
Didn’t she miss Jesus, Lord?
His smile? His voice?
His physical presence at her table?

I have no true words of prayer, Lord.
Nothing of great theological value to meditate on or add.
Just a request that I be wrapped in the same comfort and warmth
That eased Mary’s pain
When everyone else leapt with delight in the love and steadfast truth of Your Promise
And all she wanted to do was hold her Son
And rest her head gently on His shoulder
While breathing the same air that He breathed.

- Pamela Holtz