Learning to Sit in the Ashes with Job

"And when they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him. And they raised their voices and wept, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads toward heaven. And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great" (Job 2:12-13).

I remember the day after we had lost my brother, Jon, to suicide. The days right after are never hard to remember. Just Mom, Dad, and I were awake. It was early since none of us could sleep. Mom said it was okay if I went downstairs and watched some television, but I didn't want to go downstairs. It was dark. I had never been that afraid of the dark, especially as an eleven year-old. But, due to what we had just gone through the night before, I did not want to go alone into the dark. So I stayed up stairs for a little bit.

A few hours had passed and we started to get our first visitors. They brought a dish or two, some flowers, prayers, and a couple words of comfort, but they didn't really know what to say. No one ever knows what to say. So they just sat, which was nice. They cried with us, held our hands, and played with us, anything to help numb the pain. By the end of the day, I was exhausted--emotionally, spiritually, and physically. My Aunt Janet noticed that my eyelids were drooping, so she and my Uncle John walked me to bed, prayed with me, wept with me. Then, as best as I could, I fell asleep.

Everyday until the funeral, and even a little after, was just like that day. In the darkest moment of my family's life, we knew that we were loved. We knew what it was like to be like Job and have friends come, sit, and weep with us. Thankfully, unlike Job's friends, ours knew that God's purposes were far beyond what we could explain at that moment. So, trusting in the goodness of God and in His sovereign plan, we learned to sit in the ashes in silence.

The next couple of months weren't easy. They never are as you try to adjust to holidays, birthdays, and events that make it woefully obvious that someone you loved is not there anymore. But, you keep on moving. The wound turns into a scar, which you try hiding and saying its not a big deal, that's at least how I thought of it. The first year was rough, but we made it. As a family, through joy and sorrow, we just kept on moving.

In the next couple of years, God brought different experiences into my life to remind me of the pain of losing my brother. Heart attacks, car accidents, and suicides all reminded me once again of the same aching scar. But, in every tragedy, I learned more of how I can use my suffering to comfort others and glorify God. The conversation turns a different way when you can legitimately say, "I know what it's like to lose someone like that, and I know someone who can heal the wound." God grew my heart as he grew my mind in understanding how good and great He actually is, especially in the middle of suffering.

By God's grace, surviving the trauma of suicide has grown my heart and made me stronger. After trials like that, you learn to empathize for the hurting--the ones who have lost loved ones in a tornado or school shootings. You care for the orphans and outcasts because you never want anyone to be alone again. Over time, you learn to stay calm in the most dreadful circumstances and find ways to help out. Carrying others' burdens becomes a regular thing. The scar becomes less embarrassing and more of a testimony of God's grace in your life. In the end, you learn to walk and sit in the ashes of this world, weeping a little extra with those who weep, pointing to the sovereign God who turns ashes to glory.