A poem of Lament

I feel lost
wandering around in this darkness.
I know You are here, Lord.
I just can't see you today;
can't feel you.
My chest feels tight.
My breath, 
labored.
My heart,
weary of beating...
without him here.

I wander the house,
trying to do the "next thing"
in a house that is too still.
Too quiet.
I try to keep breathing,
to will my heart to keep beating,
to find something to take joy in.
But today...
I am
so 
very 
weary.

I open the door to Grief.
I welcome her in.  

In my heart, come the words of the Psalmist...
"What shall I return to the Lord
    for all his goodness to me?
 I will lift up the cup of salvation
    and call on the name of the Lord." (Psalm 116:12-13, NIV)

For a brief moment, my head bobs above the water and I cry out...
"You have been so good to me, Lord!
My blessings, 
I could name them one by one,
could recount them aloud.
You have been 
faithful,
loving,
and compassionate.

I'm lifting up my cup, O Lord...
and asking,
would you do it again?!
Would you meet me here in this place?
Again?


Meet me at this table of Grief.
If you don't reveal to me it's purpose, my purpose, now...
would you give me perseverence
to the end?!"

And somewhere in the darkness, 
at the table where Grief and I sit,
I hear myself whispering a desperate, yet confident, 
cry for Help.
I wait...
Watching with eager anticipation,
knowing that my God
will answer...

I wait,
just as the watchman waits
with unfailing, never-ending hope
for the coming morning light.