from: the beatitudes, two

'Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’

Matthew 5/4

I used to be one to shy away from loss. I think if today I had to deal with the grit of loss and leaving, I would shy away still. As someone who is sentimental by nature, leaving behind anything is not my strong suit. When leaving is inevitable, I memorialize what I’ve left with rose-colored memories and present day momentos. Reading this beatitude, my attitude towards loss is counter to God’s.

How can I be comforted if I’m running to memories and souvenirs for safety? I’m trading the Holy Spirit, the comforter, for a false sense of home.

I’ve grown up going to Maine every summer since I was seven years old. The old green pine tress. The inky blue ocean. The smell of fish and salt wafting up from the docks. These sights and smells are plastered on the walls of my mind. When I was in high school and felt discontent with my day to day, I’d long to get back up to the island. In spells of teenage obsession, I’d look at old pictures there, plan things to do the following summer and whist-fully try to forget about the present.

But I’m sitting in this place now, and while still beautiful and kindred to me, this place is just a place. It isn’t my comfort. It isn’t my ultimate Home. God is. Whether mourning or dancing, weeping or rejoicing, his presence remains ultimately where I want to return to. I will be blessed in both; comforted in both. When I mourn, may I mourn with Him; Him to whom I return.