“In the world’s finale, something so precious will come to pass that it will comfort all resentments, atone for all crimes, and justify all that has happened.” - Dostoevsky
Empty streets, silent save for the occasional piercing scream of an ambulance siren. Long, somber lines of people shrouded in face masks and gloves, spaced six feet apart in grocery store queues. Furtive glances, averted eyes, pedestrians crossing to the other side of the street to stay as far away from each other as possible. The ghost-like silence of this town feels apocalyptic, and triggers the same sense of panic that followed the traumatic loss of my husband five years ago. I know I’m not the only one battling a sense of PTSD as this pandemic rages. Phantom physical symptoms after going out in public, and very real emotional symptoms, prove what a deadly disease this is - even to those who are never infected. The new level of global suffering and uncertainty can create a fear deeper than mere isolation: no one ultimately has answers, and no one knows how long it will last.
As I scan the headlines, taking stock of each day’s new death tolls, restrictions and recommendations, the same thoughts beat out an all-to-familiar medley in the back of my mind, taking me back in time to the first months after Nathan died. This is senseless. There’s nothing anyone can do to fix it. We’re all stuck on a runaway train going God-knows-where. What is “trust” supposed to look like now? Where on this earth can true safety and security be found?
Maybe you can relate to one or more of these thoughts. Maybe the fear and uncertainty, even more destructive than the actual virus, have taken root in your mind and burrow ever deeper and more paralyzing. This thing came out of nowhere with the shock and force of a hurricane, and no one was prepared. And like a world caught off-guard, I was utterly unprepared to lose my husband suddenly at 26. Nothing in my life could have hinted at this, the end of all we had built together, the utter loneliness and despair. The questions, anger, grief, and fear tormented me relentlessly. My faith was wrecked, and rebuilding it on a new foundation that included the worst suffering was a long, arduous, and tortuously slow process.
Now, five years later, with a faith refined and strengthened by the fires of suffering, I can wholeheartedly attest to the words of Lamentations 3, even as once-solid earthly foundations crumble and give way:
”The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him.’” (Lamentations 3: 21-23)
If I’m honest, it was years after Nathan died before I could imagine ever quoting these verses again. Promises from the Bible felt like a slap in the face. I couldn’t reconcile hope with the personal hell I was living. My testimony is not that I survived the loss of my husband. My testimony is that I despaired of life itself…but God. I was a broken, angry, lifeless shell of a person…but God. I was afraid, tortured, with no idea where to turn…but God. He was faithful then, and He is faithful now. Yesterday, today, and forever, He is unchanging. He is sovereign, and He is good. The worst atrocities of this life cannot change that reality, and the glorious eternity awaiting all of us who love Him.
Reminding myself of where I’ve been and the truth that I now cling to is a daily battle. Every day that we walk out our door onto empty streets, surrounded by barred windows, face masks and police, I have a choice: will I succumb to PTSD, reliving the fears and triggers of past trauma? Or will I choose to cling to the One who has proven Himself faithful time and time again? This Sunday we will celebrate the resurrection of Him who defeated death. Our worst enemy has been eternally conquered; even earthly suffering and death results in an eternal victory when we finally behold our Savior face to face. The result of such a hope? As Franklin D. Roosevelt famously proclaimed during the dark days of a nationwide Depression: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
We know in Whom we have believed. We know where our true destiny lies. And so today and every day, Elissa and I are committed to choose joy. We will choose hope. We will shine a beacon of light to others cowering in darkness. My prayer is that they will be drawn to our light like moths to a flame, and that we will have daily opportunities to say, “Taste and see…He is good.”
