“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”
Isaiah 53:5
Three busy toddlers, the eldest dragging a toy Lego train stacked with cube supplies to survive the arduous journey into our kitchen while the younger brother carefully crafts through tears magnetic square boxes for his baby sister to smash as she squirms on the sofa. An absolutely normal afternoon as a stay at home caretaker navigating the all the basic needs (physical and emotional) and the mess (physical and emotional) of herself and offspring. So much joy and chaos intersecting like July in Georgia full of heat, sunshine and random quick heavy summer storms. Likewise, when these bright beautiful and heated moments succumb to the sudden storms in my soul as my sorrow says, “She will never meet my younger children and I will never share my motherhood with her.” Five years ago on a Monday, my older sister ended her life at 27 years old (July 15, 2019). The sudden and turbulent tragedy tossed our family into a hurricane. Overtime the July hurricane season blows less fiercely, or more like we adapt to the sudden downpour.
Losing a loved one creates a hole, a missing empty space. Overtime the hole remains open, but you learn to live with holes especially united with God’s holiness that weaves together your own wholeness. When Jesus causally walked through, quite literally, the door whilst His own beloved ones gathered for shelter from their own hurricane of grief, His hands, feet and side still bore holes:
“Now Thomas (also known as Didymus) one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!”But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
-John 20:24-27
So restoration does not mean reversal, the wounds remain and the cross carried until full resurrection. I loss my older sister, I gained three beautiful souls to tend through changing weathers, both remain true and do not cancel each other. So when the grief hits like a summer storm, I sing out worship songs, I cry out and spin around my kitchen, and I squeeze and kiss those tender young children. Furthermore, I gather at my family’s lake house to pray with faithful friends in the same location she spent her last weekend on earth. I wonder at my remaining wounds, how weakness becomes strengths, how joy and sorrow become companions, and how holes become holy wholeness.
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