Without Fear of the Future

“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.” 

Proverbs 31:25 NLT

365 days, 52 weeks, 12 months, 1 year. A year. A container for life, experience, knowledge, joy, pain, hope, fear. A marker where we step over a line and start another cycle of events that mirror those that have happened before in what can either feel like a relentless march or a fiercely delightful dash into the unknown. These last two years my life was changed forever by phone calls, an accident, a shock. Last year my grandparents were in a car accident that would claim their lives within a week of each other. This year, my Mom lost the battle with cancer but won the war of her walk with the Lord and went ahead to be in His presence.

In Papua New Guinea a person bears the outward marks of their grief for a period of time in one or more of several ways. Some choose to twist their hair into dreadlocks, or at least one piece of their hair, as a sign of mourning. Others tie a piece of red fabric or string around their wrist. Others will let their hair and/or beard grow for an allotted amount of time to show others that they have lost someone and that they are still grieving. There are things I like about this tradition, that I have found comforting over this last year. In January, my Papua New Guinean was papa (host father) from my time living in a village died suddenly. His was the third death I’d endured in close relatives and friends in a year. The day I heard about his death I wept, and as I did I braided a red cord and tied it to my wrist. It was my link to Papua New Guinea and my mark that allowed me to show my grief to those around me whether they understood it or not. This August I did the same for my Mom.

The cord for my Mom is still on my wrist. Its color is fading now but it still remains, tenaciously clinging to my arm, a gentle reminder of what God has brought me through these last two years. A whispering badge of a wounded heart that is still healing. Today, I look down and remember those calls that rocked my world. Of waiting in the ICU to see my grandmother who could not recognize me or speak my name. Of standing in the room with my grandfather as he prayed over me and my brother, encouraged us to stay faithful to the Lord, and exhorted us to stand firm no matter what the enemy threw at us. It brought me back to the precipice that was a year ago after both of them were gone. To the night in the Sydney airport when I heard my Mom was gone. To stepping back onto the tarmac at the Port Moresby airport as I returned to Papua New Guinea yet again. This year, has been a cup of bitter sorrow and struggle that had been measured out into months and minutes and hours. A year whose dregs were hope and glimpses of joy that could only be tasted when the rest of the cup had been drained dry. A year seems such a short time and yet such an eternity.

Although this year has been one of the most difficult in my life I can honestly say it has also been a time where I’ve walked more closely with the Lord than ever before. I can truly say that His vow to take me through fire and yet protect me from being burned and to stride with me through water and keep me from being overwhelmed is true. His promise to be close to the brokenhearted is trustworthy and altogether sturdy.  He is with me and because of that I can look to the future and laugh, knowing that God has already clothed me with dignity and strength and He will walk with me through whatever comes my way.