A time to mourn and a time to dance

I had to look up this verse from Ecclesiastes to remember exactly how it is worded. In my memory, it was "a time to mourn and a time to be comforted." It was kind of ironic, then, to find that it actually finished the phrase with "a time to dance."

We danced last night at a family square dance event hosted by our church. I've always found dancing very cathartic, and last night was no exception. I'm thankful for times to dance, times of joy in spite of the sadness that still lingers. It is comforting to come up for air, to enjoy the bright spots in life. We had all types of people enjoying the dance: young and old, athletic and not. One in a wheelchair, one on crutches, one precious young man with Down syndrome who reminds me constantly of the daughter I lost. Everyone thrilling in the joy of movement, the joy of being together.

Lately the subject of comfort has been at the forefront of my mind. I didn't realize at the beginning of this journey of grief how great the comfort of God would be. That sounds too simple, too trite, so let me try to explain.

I grew up in a Christian home, blessed by parents who taught me from a young age about a God who loves us and gave his own son to die for us. I felt the conviction of my need for salvation strongly at a young age. Even growing up in a rich spiritual environment, though, I've always been afraid of suffering. In the past I have avoided verses like "blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (Matt 5:4). Why would I want to mourn? I didn't like the sound of this. So although I knew that verses like this were in the Bible, I chose to frame my point of view around other scriptures instead. The bits about mourning, or suffering, sounded too terrible to bear. My life was relatively simple, actually quite easy, and I didn't want to think about hardship or pain.

What I didn't know was how great the comfort would be. And, I'm starting to believe that we are only able to experience the comfort of God in direct proportion to the severity of our suffering. Now, I'm no theologian, and I don't have a list of scriptures to back this up. This is strictly my personal experience speaking, no more, no less.

So, personally, I believe that I would not have experienced the comfort of God to the extent that I now know it unless I had been through this trial. It may sound like a small consolation for losing a daughter, and don't get me wrong, this does not diminish the painful hole that she left behind. But if the void had not been this great, I would not have had such a need, such a capacity, to receive the comfort of God. There is a reward in the depth of the comfort that is there. And it took me about nine months of pain to be able to open myself up, just the tiniest bit, to begin to receive that comfort.

Here is one of those verses that really scared me in the past - still does, to tell the truth.

And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.

I Corinthians 1:7

Let me be blunt: I hated verses like this. Sharing in suffering does not sound like a good time. It doesn't sound like something a God of love would allow. And I'm still wrestling with a lot of questions about this. I have learned, though, that there is hope. There is comfort, and it increases exponentially compared with the level of pain I have endured. It is this comfort that has allowed me to go on, that has allowed me to embrace both the mourning and the dancing.