The blow has fallen so suddenly. One day the sun was shining and your heart's garden was full of flowers, and then the storm swept through and in a moment everything is changed. It seems incredible that such a thing could happen, that the one you loved could be here one hour and gone the next. The tent strings are snapped, the curtains rent, and your soul cries out with that old prophet, "My sorrow is beyond healing; my heart is faint within me."
Yet I want you to know this: the Lord has not been taken by surprise. He saw the end from the beginning, and He has not left you to face this alone. Even now, when your grief is so raw that every breath feels like a fresh wound, Jesus draws near. He does not stand at a distance and call out comfort to you as though you were a stranger, no, He comes right into the room of your sorrow and sits down beside you. Did He not weep at the grave of His own friend Lazarus? Did He not feel the wrench of parting as He hung upon the tree? Your High Priest is touched with the feeling of your infirmity; He knows the weight of this particular cross because He has carried sorrow in His own heart.
You may be asking yourself how you will ever find your way through this dark valley. I will not paint a false picture and tell you that the pain will pass quickly. Grief has its own pace, and it will not be hurried. But oh, I would have you know that there is a comfort appointed for you even here, a comfort that is not like the world's consolations, which evaporate as soon as they are brought to the lips. The drunkard reaches for his cup and calls it comfort; the miser clutches his gold and thinks it will soothe his aching heart. But these things mock a soul that has tasted the bitterness of death. No, the true comfort is found in the Word of the living God, and in the presence of Him who spoke it.
When the psalmist cried out from the depths, he said, "This is my comfort in my affliction, for Your word has quickened me." Not just that it instructed him, or corrected him, or even that it promised him better days, but that it quickened him. It put life into him when he was sinking. It breathed fresh hope into his spirit when everything around him was speaking of death. And that same Word is for you today. It may be that you can scarcely lift your eyes to read it, but a single promise held in the heart is enough. "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." "I will never leave you nor forsake you." "I am the resurrection and the life." These are not mere words, they are the voice of your Beloved, calling you by name through the darkness.
Think of the disciples on that dreadful night when their Lord was taken from them. They thought all was lost, that the bottom had fallen out of their world. But what they could not see was that the very suffering that crushed them was the means by which their redemption was secured, and that in a little while they would see Him again and their joy would be full. Your loved one, having trusted in Christ, is not lost but hidden for a season. The separation is sharp, but it is not eternal. The Good Shepherd has simply taken this lamb to another pasture, and you shall follow in due time.
In the meanwhile, you are not left comfortless. The Holy Spirit is called the Comforter for a reason; it is His special office to come alongside the saints when their hearts are breaking and to whisper the love of Christ into their ears. He will bring to your remembrance the sweet things that Jesus has said, and He will strengthen you to take the next step, and the next, until you find that your feet are standing on solid rock again. You cannot see it now, but the trial that has emptied you of earthly comfort is preparing you for a deeper experience of Heaven's supply.
Some comfortings come from God in black-edged envelopes. The very sorrow that cuts so keenly may become, in the Lord's hands, a chisel to carve his own image more deeply into your soul. I do not ask you to smile through your tears, or to pretend that all is well when it is not. But I do bid you look away from the grave to the Man who has swallowed up death in victory. He lives, and because He lives, you and your dear one shall live also. The ship may be tossed by the waves, but the Pilot is on board, and He has never yet lost a vessel that trusted Him.
I will not keep you long with many words. Let me simply leave you with this: the Lord who permits the furnace is the Lord who walks in the midst of it with His children. He does not explain all His dealings, He rarely does, and we could not bear it if He did, but He gives us Himself, and that is enough. Lay your aching head upon His breast, and though you do not understand, you may rest in perfect safety. The darkness is not dark to Him; the night is as clear as the day. And one morning, sooner than you think, you shall lift up your eyes and behold the dawn.
Father of all mercies, look upon this bruised one. You have written the tears in Your book; gather them now into Your bottle. Surround this precious soul with songs of deliverance even in this prison of grief. Speak that one word that quickens the dead, and bid hope arise where all seems lost. Comfort with that comfort which passes understanding, and keep the feet of Your child from slipping until the day breaks and the shadows flee away, through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Amen.