The Gift of God’s Presence

I cannot believe it has been so many years since these words spilled from my heart onto the page: “My husband, John, died suddenly and unexpectedly on July 10, 2018.” 

“On one of my hikes recently, I found myself smiling – alone in the woods, walking, pondering, and grinning like an idiot. I thought, ‘I am happy. I am strong. I am joy-filled.’ What a blessing that is! Yet, there was something more: the realization that I was profoundly present in that very moment.  I realized, maybe for the first time since John’s death, that every thought, every step, every action, every breath, is no longer filtered through the lens of grief.  

“I am able to experience life with purer clarity. From the discovery of deer tracks and blossoms on my path to spotting a leaf descending silently, twirling through the woods; and from the barred owls calling to one another across the river, to marveling at the color of the bluest sky – I. AM. PRESENT. What a gift.

“I don’t think my joy in this moment in any way diminishes the height of the love that I shared with John, nor the depth of the loss that has been endured. I think rather, it is a great display of the love that our Father has for us in helping us to navigate the many valleys we must traverse in this life. If there has been a gift that has emerged from this valley it is the realization that my world has become so much more closely intertwined with the spiritual realm, which is everywhere – and within – simultaneously.

“My faith has become an even clearer lens through which to view life… and loss. God has come so much nearer. In the words of Tozer: ‘We need never shout across the spaces to an absent God. He is nearer than our own soul, closer than our most secret thoughts.’¹ What a blessed assurance that is. As another anniversary of John’s death approaches, I am certain that the waves of grief will crash and probably crash hard, but I will be completely present then, too, giving in to poignant surrender, certain that God will shelter me in this storm as well.” ²

If you were to ask me how I have been able to navigate this journey through sorrow while maintaining a joy-filled spirit, I would tell you that you are putting the cart before the horse. The year before John died, I was intentionally walking so much more closely with my Father, more closely than at any other time in my life. I was steeping myself in his word, seeking the beauty of his creation with a grateful heart, rejoicing in his goodness, and singing his praise; God was near.

When we were in the hospital, and I knew for certain that John would not survive, I also knew without any doubt that my Father had graciously been preparing me for this moment. He was training my heart to hear his voice on the wind, training my eyes to find beauty, even in the shadow of death, allowing me to sense his nearness in so many ways. Yes, I looked through the foggy, tear-streaked lens of grief for a time, but the clarity of God’s love has never dimmed.

So, I guess the most imperative advice I could offer is to seek our Father now, at this very moment in time. If you are walking in his light, rejoice and give thanks; seek his wonder and sing his praise. However, if there are shadows upon your path, turn to your Father with your pain. He waits to walk with you through every valley and over every mountain pass. How fitting that this song is playing as I type these words: 

“I will praise you on the mountain,
And I will praise you when the mountain is in my way.
You’re the summit where my feet are,
So I will praise You in the valleys all the same.

No less God within the shadows,
No less faithful when the night leads me astray,
‘Cause You’re the heaven where my heart is,
In the highlands and the heartache all the same, oh-oh.” ³

“No less God within the shadows.” Contented sigh. That part resonates so deeply with me. The first words I heard in my heart when I turned to God in my sorrow were, “I am still good.” I heard this so clearly. He declared that His goodness was not dependent upon time or place or situation. His goodness is completely transcendent.

When John died, I felt like my life was suddenly hurled into a free fall; every hope and future dream was ripped from my grasp. But God was right there, an unwavering source of strength. His goodness and sovereignty and steadfast love were solid. He bid me to cling to that truth and trust in it, even when life felt anything but good. Declaring His goodness in the hard places kept my heart turned to the Author of all joy, and that has made every difference on my journey through grief.

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 ¹  Tozer, A.W., The Pursuit of God, Abbotsford, WI, Aneko Press, 2015 edition, p. 50.

²  Grant, Julie, Streams of Light from a Heart Broken, Bloomington, IN, Westbow Press, p. 110.

³  Highlands (Song of Ascent) by Benjamin William Hastings and Hillsong UNITED.

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