Last night, I woke up at 1am. I caught myself weeping as I slept. I woke up to a cold feeling on my face; it was from my tears that drenched my pillow. I had just had a hyper-realistic dream. It was a dream about hugging one of my cousins, weeping over the death of my mom.
As I sat there, I realized that I wasn’t just mourning the death of my mom, but mourning the loss of relationships with some of my extended family. Death brings us all to weird places, and all of us grieve in our own ways. Now, more than ever, I’m grateful to be surrounded by people who point me to the good news of Jesus every day.
I cling to the promise that God is near to the brokenhearted. I cling to the truth that God is near and that He sees me. It may not always feel as though He’s there, but that’s when I preach the truth of Scripture to myself. And in God’s grace and goodness, I am sweetly reminded of His love for me.
