And the rains came tumbling down

When I was little, we sang a song in church based on a parable Jesus Christ taught:

The wise man built his house upon a rock (*cue kids slamming one fist into the other hand, representing a solid "rock"*).

The wise man built his house upon a rock.

The wise man built his house upon a rock,

And the rains came tumbling down.

The rains came down, and the floods came up (*tiny fingers imitate trickling water coming from the sky; then palms stretch out flat as they rise skyward like floodwater*).

The rains came down, and the floods came up.

The rains came down, and the floods came up,

And the house on the rock stood firm (*I always say "still" instead of firm, by mistake*).

The story goes on to tell of a foolish man, whose poorer choice of foundation led to ruin for his household:

The foolish man built his house upon the sand,

And the rains came tumbling down.

The rains came down, and the floods came up,

And the house on the sand washed away.

What person, staring death in the face, or confronting other unwelcome losses hasn't longed in some moment, for some amount of time for the fate of the foolish man? Being washed away, sad as it seems on the surface, has its benefits. Clean cut. No chance of restoring the old structure, so no worry about doing so. Less stressful. Not having to face the damage that the rain and flood surely left in its wake (e.g. yard, neighbors, community), because when the house washed away, the tenant did too. A quick, cleansing farewell.

At least, grief sometimes makes it seem that way. Like it'd be easier just to be washed away, instead of being left to repair. One way grief tries to strike down motivation is to make you think there's no happiness except in the thing you lost. So grief pushes you to frantically stretch and reach and lunge to grasp the object of your mourning - be it a person, a place, a thing, or a time you can't get back. You think, "If only I could hold [insert loss here] again, I would be happy." I think grief is the most painfully deceptive kind of obsession a human can tolerate.

I remember how strong those feelings were at first. I remember how horrible they were.

I revisited Jesus' parable today, as written in scripture (not song). A line from it reminded me of those soul-wrenching, heart-breaking feelings:

And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house.

The emotional beatings were tremendous. When I think back to the most painful moments, I picture myself lying in bed, stretching, and reaching and lunging to feel my husband next to me. And then not finding him there, stretching, and reaching, and lunging in prayer to see him in my dreams.

The rains came. The winds blew. They beat. They battered. They rammed. They tore. They disoriented. They seemed strong enough to destroy.

But you know what?

My house didn't fall.

Does this make me wise? Does this mean I'm not foolish? I don't see my survival as evidence of any strength of my own. I really don't. People used to tell me how "strong" and "brave" I was. (And please don't misunderstand, I sincerely appreciate those expressions of support, respect, love, and kindness.) I do not deny that my efforts to nourish my spirit regularly played a role in the access I had to strength, but I know the strength itself was not my own. Then and now, I acknowledge that my very ability to stand (spiritually and emotionally, yes, but I mean even physically) was because of my foundation.

Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when [facing] mighty winds, yea, ... shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all ... hail and ... mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.

I am so so grateful I didn't fall. I am so so grateful that I literally couldn't fall, because of my impenetrable foundation. I am so so grateful Christ not only kept me standing, but taught me to walk again. I am so so grateful He restored my heart and home. The damage seemed too much to handle. It seemed beyond repair.

​And now, I sit in a new home. A literal new home, as well as a metaphysical one. My eternal companion remains my joy. And yet somehow (maybe in part for all the stretching and reaching and lunging!), I have been blessed with the incomprehensible joy of knowing love again in this life.

I have a mansion!

My family has witnessed the miraculous power of the Savior to reconstruct and renew. Eventually, we will all witness the miracle of His power to fully restore as well.

"...And the house on the rock stood firm."