Grief Devotional

Grieve like a late summer storm that ruins everyone's picnics.

Grieve like dew finally, achingly, tumbling from a wildflower petal,
or an old truck roaring through a long tunnel like it's chasing the devil.

Grieve like an undertow, one that catches you by surprise,
or a lost child in a train station,
ready to go somewhere but not knowing where
or who to go with.

Grieve like a love letter buried in damp dirt,
that you know will dissolve this season,
leaving longing written deep in the darkness.

Grieve like a Mother who has lost one child,
but still cradles another,
knowing she must love with a shattered heart.

Grieve like a precocious dancing newborn horse that can’t be bridled or even made sense of.

Grieve like a bridge crumbling with age and all the weight it’s carried,
everything it’s held and seen,
suddenly given to the abyss below.

Grieve like every bellow from your lungs is a new masterpiece fit for the Sistine Chapel,
that will only fade as you fade.

Grieve as if you held the hands of every child killed in war,
watching the life fade,
their eyes wondering why this has all ended so suddenly,
in such horror.

Grieve as if you’re folding your loss like dough,
over and into itself,
binding it too itself
so that in your heart it can be made into love again.

Grieve as if everything mattered and your life was just one hand passing that devotional on to the next.