Learning to let go.

It was about a week before Mikael passed away. He and I were the only ones in his hospital room. I remember I leaned against the windowsill as we talked. The now familiar whirring of his IV drip the soundtrack in the background. If I remember correctly I had just passed him an ice pack which he often needed to help with his abdominal pain. 

And seemingly, out of no where he looks at me and says, “so sis, where are we going to adventure to once I get out of here?”

This question took me by surprise, especially as I looked at him there, central line in his chest, cheek bones protruding, his skin pale. It took me by surprise not because I couldn’t imagine his life beyond the hospital and the hopelessness it seemed to spur, but rather surprised by his unwavering hope. 

His attitude throughout his fight was beyond anything I can even comprehend - especially knowing the pain he faced. How uncomfortable he was having to spend 30 days in the hospital, almost all of that time in the hospital bed. And beyond his hospital stay, the amount of pain that had become normal for him… Yet even there, on the edge of deaths door he fought.

I imagine he fought as hard as he did as he did not want to give up; regardless of how bleak the situation seemed. He did not want to give up on this life, his wife, his girls… I know he too was waiting for the day where his miracle would come to be. I also think he fought as he did for us, his family and friends who did all that we could to keep him here with us.

I caught the briefest part of the Heaven Come conference being streamed online by Bethel. Steffany Gretzinger was the one speaking. What caught my attention was this: “I began to ask the Lord for enlightenment - the real kind - where Jesus Himself pulls us out of darkness. Where the light turns on inside of us; Christ the hope of glory inside me. That He would so lift me above this realm where fear couldn’t touch me - that there was nothing scary. That I wouldn’t be afraid to lose my dad or my daughter or my husband because they don’t belong to me. They belong to Him.”

That hit me like a tonne of bricks. The revelation of those we love not belonging to us but rather they belong to the Lord. It is in this where death doesn’t seem to be as frightening. 

I have been to many funerals. I thought I knew what it was like to lose someone, that is, until someone tied especially close to me was now gone. All of the sudden, death took on new meaning. The separation between us and heaven rocked my world and I was left reeling in grief. 

It was in the space between me and heaven where I now found a new type of loneliness. I felt about as small as an ant, meaningless and insignificant. Almost as if in an out of body experience I saw myself and I saw this life and it felt incredibly meaningless. It took my breath away, like a shock to the system. It was fear of the unknown: fear of the separation between me and someone I loved so deeply. 

Yet, I know that I know that Mike is with Jesus. I also know that heaven is real, that God is real and this life holds so much. It is often easy to lose purpose and when that does happen it paralyzes me. 

It’s in truly grasping Whose we are where such freedom lies. Because then, all of the sudden death loses it’s mystery. In knowing that I am the Lords, I also know that those I love belong to Him. As final as death feels it’s not. 

Here we reach the thoughts of eternal living. Something that inspires me and something I want to grasp more. Honestly though, it’s hard and something that I still have yet to grasp in even a small way. But a step towards is letting go of the fear of losing people when I know I can trust them in the hands of our Jesus. 

A part of me wants to be selfish, like when one of my closest friends has a new friend, I want to steal them away and have all of their time. I wanted to hold on to Mikael forever - by hold on I mean see him healed - because deep down there was a fear that I would never see him again.

But the truth is so different from that. 

How easy it is to say that I trust God when really I want to hold people so close to me because I just love them so stinkin’ much. That somehow by me holding them so close they’ll be kept safe.

The picture I now have in my head is a little girl holding something in her hands so tightly that it can’t be seen. But there is God crouching down to her level, reaching out his open hand towards her saying, “do you trust me?” Although she nods her head yes, she’s really just tightening her grip. Yet ever so lovingly He looks deeply in her eyes - passion burning - saying, “It’s okay, you can trust me, I won’t let it fall, I won’t let harm come, I’ve got it. I’ve got you.”

I am that little girl. A part of me is still holding so desperately to Mikael, in fear of forgetting. I think that’s the hardest part of grief for me, is the fear that I will forget. So as I write this, tears literally streaming down my face, I take a deep breath because I know that Mikael is safe. I also think of those I love here, their faces flash in my minds eye. Bit by bit, from here on I choose to let them go because in letting go I am stepping further into this thing that is trusting God. Further stepping into rest. Further stepping into joy; into love.

For me, the biggest part of trusting God is the freedom that comes with it.

So from my heart to yours, this is my prayer.

Father, help me to let go. Help me to learnt to trust.