When Lament Finds You
Who wants to wallow in sadness? Not me. Even if I did, life moves to fast to lament. Only by accident my tears came streaming. And I got a whole new glimpse of God.
I was listening to Eric Church on my snowy commute–his lesser-known songs I hadn’t heard before. Raw stories of addiction, regret, and numbing the pain.
When he writes that he “bleeds on paper,” he’s not kidding.
As his stories unfolded, I was moved to compassion for people I normally wouldn’t give a whole lotta grace: alcoholics, whores, addicts–groups I give a whole lotta judgement. Those are people I pass by. People I leave in the dust as the pace of life calls.
But once I heard their shame, regret, and desperate calls out to God, my heart did a 180. And I realized: These are modern-day psalms of lament.
I can’t easily place myself in David’s shoes hiding from enemy armies closing in on all sides. But I can relate to pain. To loss. To brokenness so bad you think of all the ways to make it stop.
Finding God in Lament
My hands moved from steering to wiping tears as I’m feeling a glimpse of what God must feel when He sees our pain.
The difference between me and God? I can skip a song when it gets too heavy. I can turn it down or turn it off.
But He doesn’t skip a beat. He doesn’t turn away. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t numb out.
He watches the real, raw, live event. And he feels it all.
I think of the amount of pain He could save Himself, and I’m brought to my knees. He didn’t just sacrifice once. He does it every. single. day.
THIS is the God I serve. The Savior. Hero–living by a code of honor I’m inspired to strive toward.
THIS is the God to whom my devotion grows.
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”–Lamentations 3:22-23