Jeremiah is often referred to as the weeping prophet but that title doesn’t mean he lacked faith. It means he loved deeply. Love, when it collides with loss, always weeps. Jeremiah doesn’t cry because he doubted who God was, he cried because he knew Him.

Lamenting is deep weeping. The book of lamentations is the cry of the people of Jerusalem who had been destroyed by Babylon. It is five poetic acrostics that speak to their sorrow and grief while also highlighting God’s faithfulness. It’s mourning. Lamentations shows that God is not indifferent to our tears. We are not required to hide our feelings and emotions. We can bring them to His feet with honesty and depth. The author is believed to be Jeremiah, although it’s not for certain. I’m operating under the belief that it’s him who writes. Jeremiah could have told them “I told you so.” , but instead, he wept with them. He sat in the ashes. His tears mirror God’s own heartache. His tears weren’t weakness, but an alignment with God. Scripture never asks him to stop crying.

If we rush too quickly to hope and happiness (not joy), we miss something sacred. Faith does not deny pain, but it names it. Fully. Honestly. Maybe poetically. In the very middle of the book, at the lowest emotional point is a nearly defiant declaration:

Lamentations 3:21-23 states that :

²¹ Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:

²² The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end;
²³ they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

Hope doesn’t show up just because things are better within our own circumstances, it appears because we remember who God is. We remember that He is still there. The above scripture was not quoted in the sunshine and joyful mornings like we often like to paint. You know, the pictures we take of our coffee cups with this scripture painted on it with a beautiful sunrise behind it? Bible open. Maybe a still breeze. These words were spoken amidst tears stained with deep, gut wrenching heartache. It’s not a polished and finished praise, but a weapon of worship as we step onto the spiritual battlefield.

We can say that God is faithful even when the situation says that life is not good. The new mercies are not found in the absence of suffering, but in the acknowledgement of who God is within it.

Have you ever been in awe with something you experienced for the first time? I remember being in awe over my newborns. I was absolutely breathless at how beautiful they were. I’ve been in awe at the mountains I don’t ever remember seeing before as I climbed the last step of the incline or the sunrise God blessed me with on a quiet morning with my kids joyfully playing in the foreground.

Jeremiah’s weeping leads him to awe. He is not numb or cynical or passive. He is beside himself that God is so faithful even when it feels like everything else has collapsed. It’s more than excitement. We can realize that God doesn’t change even though our world does.

I studied this because I was in awe. We opened our package last night. The one I mentioned previously that sat on our bed as I avoided opening the feelings it may contain. The baby blanket and onesie. It all went together so beautifully. The onsie reads “God is good”. Fitting. We prayed. I had that same awe that I mentioned above. I’m not pregnant if that’s what you were hoping for, but God is still good. He isn’t done until it is good, but my grief can be faithful. I think that so much damage is done by pretending that we are okay. God’s mercy shows up quietly, faithfully, every morning. Again and again. The future I dreamed for and made space for may not come and yet, my awe is found in knowing that He is still good. He is still near. He is gentle with my grief. Others need to see that. It’s how testimony forms empathy that forms understanding.

I don’t need to wrap my grief up in a little bow or rush through it at full sprint. I can sit in the ashes and still trust Him.

His mercies often come unnoticeable at first. God doesn’t replace the loss, but He shows up in it over and over. It’s the ability to get out of bed. It’s the glimpse of laughter as you watch your kids play. A peaceful moment. A laugh. A welcomed tear that brings the calm. It’s the whisper that you are still loved. It’s the worship song that finally rolls off of your tongue. It’s when you make it out of the front door for the first time in weeks. When grief could have shut you down, you kept going. That’s mercy. Yesterday’s grace carried yesterday’s grief.

When we did the incline, we were astonished at the view of the stairway from the interstate as we approached the parking lot. It was a bright and beautiful afternoon. The Incline in Colorado is 2768 steps (made of railroad ties) that rises over 2,000 feet in less than a mile. Every so often we would stop and look back (to catch a breath) to marvel at the world God created. I have bad knees and heart problems so we were not sure we were gain got make it. There are 3 bail out points within the trail so you can exit if you don’t think you can make it. It was HOT. We kept pausing at the exits to consider if we should continue and to also recharge. My heart rate maxed out at around 218 multiple times. The awe was subtle at first and continued to grow the further we got. See where I’m going? Maybe 20 steps after we passed the final exit the temperature dropped, it started raining, and hail began pounding down. Suddenly, it REALLY sucked. We were exhausted and dressed for the weather at the start of the hike, not the this. There is no walking back down the stairs. We decided to push on. When we finally hit the top, we paused to look back at where we had come from. It was definitely something we were proud of finishing. The weather hadn’t changed and we still had a LONG haul back down. Yet, we were still in awe. We ran down the exit trail from the top as fast as humanly possible and got to the bus with purple skin, blisters on our feet, and white finger tips. As the bus drove off to take us back to our car, we looked back in disbelief that we had actually accomplished it. All 2768 STEEP steps. One at a time. In the rain and hail. Exhausted, but in awe. We wanted to quit, but He allowed us to climb just one more step, thousands of times.

That’s what I fell like grief would look like. One step at a time. An overwhelming, daunting, seemingly never ending hike to peace. Pausing to look at the beauty along the way, even amidst the rain. Blistered. Bruised. Exhausted. But when you hit the point when the circumstance is over, the pain isn’t erased. You keep on going, but God has been glorified the whole way. He makes it possible to keep climbing until we look back and see just far He has delivered us.

His mercies are new every morning. His mercy is still enough and His faithfulness is still great even as life changes…

Under The Sun.