By Tabatha Murphy
Breathe. It’s something that we often take for granted—the very breath of life inside of us. The moments where we can just stop and breathe all of life around us. While death and grief often remind us of just how precious that breath is—we quickly are consumed by the chaos of it all and forget again this mere and priceless blessing. Those moments when we can breathe in God’s love and truth.
I tend to walk through my grief the same way that I walk through my life—running in five directions at 150 miles an hour. It is something that I’ve tried very hard to work on. It’s not because I need to go at that speed or because I am required by law to be involved in so many activities. God really didn’t lay it on my heart to be so generous with myself or my time. (I wish that I could say that was the real reason). No—the truth is I bury myself in activities, projects and acts of service as a means for comfort. Even though I know the truth of God’s word, that His grace is not bought by good works, I find security in making my mind and hands busy everyday.
I’ve always struggled with worthiness, but the passing of our son penetrated that hurt in my heart even deeper. I spent many years believing that I failed him… that somehow and in someway his death was my fault. So, I poured every bit of my being into trying to make up for it with good works. I wanted to make a legacy for my son, to not let his death be in vain—but most of all I wanted to somehow show that I was worthy enough to be his mom.
A few years ago, I finally let this secret out. It was in one of those moments—where we all sat still, breathing life in and letting God into our hearts. Surrounded by some of the most amazing women I have ever met, I confessed my hurting heart and said words I had tried for nearly a decade to say, “It wasn’t my fault.” I knew that God had been trying for so long to reveal to me this truth, but I had made myself too busy trying to prove my worthiness and guilt that I never let this truth sink in.
I will never forget that moment—nor the women that held me as I cried that night. And though I still have to remind myself of this truth often—still have to gather my priorities when I’ve shoved myself into too many projects—I know that one day my Jesus will one day hold me and my son together and tell me how worthy we are.
I hope that today, whatever you are going though, whatever grief you are walking out—that you take a moment to just breathe. Be reminded of that precious gift of one more day of life you’ve been given and know that He hears you and sees you and thinks you are worthy too.
“Be still and know that I am God…” Psalm 46:10