The Offering of Lament

To lament is to turn to God in honest, desperate prayer, expressing the reality of our emotions—as intense and tumultuous as they may be. Ultimately, a lament is an expression of faith in the God who hears our cries and responds with mercy and grace. In this series, we seek to write our own laments in the style of the Psalmists, beginning by giving voice to the real and raw emotions that accompany our grief, and then lifting our eyes heavenward in trust and adoration of the One who is greater than all of our sorrow.

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As I was reading in Leviticus this past week (a difficult book to navigate to be sure), I was struck by a single phrase from Leviticus 7:38: “He commanded the sons of Israel to present their offerings to the Lord in the wilderness of Sinai.” It was while the Israelite people were wandering in the wilderness that God met them, provided for them, and taught them how to draw near to Him. 

The wilderness doesn’t feel like the place where God would appear in power and strength, tenderness and compassion. In fact, it’s the place where I have often felt the most distant from God, had the most questions and pain, and wondered if I really have anything to offer Him. I imagine that as the Israelites were wandering in that wilderness, hoping for entrance into the Promised Land, they were filled with questions, pain, and doubt as well.

Grief is like that. It’s a wilderness land for the brokenhearted, where emotions are unpredictable, the pain palpable, and our questions for God are more real than ever before. It’s the place where I have felt the greatest inability to know how to interact with this God that I thought I understood and knew. But, it was in the wilderness where I began to learn the healing power of lament, where all I had to offer God was my lament. And in my lament is where God met me.

Laments are God’s provision to us, enabling us to know Him more deeply in our own wilderness wanderings. So, early on in the intensity of my grief, I began to offer the cries of my heart—my lament—to God. They began as simple sentences:

God, where are you in this pain?

You say you are a kind God, but the loss of my two daughters feels cruel and mean. Are you kind and loving?

God, my heart is broken and shattered. I don’t feel like there is hope.
I don’t think that this sadness will lift. Will this pain end?
How long oh Lord until you redeem and restore? Will you?

My offering, to be honest, felt quite lame. My words were short and few. But I exchanged silence before God for wrestling with Him in my pain. This switch was small but transformational. I brought my pain to Him with a heart soft to listen and hear His response if and when He would give it. Crying out to God in my pain without filtering my words—truly wanting to know Him in the questioning—has been and continues to be the place where He meets me in those raw places of my grief. And slowly (lets be honest, sometimes more slowly then I would like), He has filled my mind and heart with deep truth. Lament is what has rooted me more steadfastly in His Word and His hope. It has been my offering of lament in the wilderness of grief that has drawn me more intimately into His wonderful, kind, and loving presence. 

The questions of my lament became statements of His goodness and presence:

God, where are you in this pain? I see the pain of what you bore on the Cross, in the sacrifice of Jesus. What pain you bore for me.

You say you are a kind God, but the loss of my two daughters feels cruel and mean. Are you kind and loving? God, how could you be more kind than when you gave your Son to die for me, for my daughters, so that I could know you and know hope even in this sorrow. I can’t make sense of this loss, but I’m beginning to see that I also can’t make sense of the magnitude of your love—love that drove you to the cross to redeem and restore all that is dead, all that is broken.

God my heart is broken and shattered. I don’t feel like there is hope. I don’t think that this sadness will lift. Will this pain end? How long oh Lord until you redeem and restore? Will You? But You promise the pain will end, that one day the tears will be no more. You say that our afflictions now are light and momentary even though it sure doesn’t feel like it. But today I trust that You will lift the darkness, that there is hope even when I cannot see (1 Corinthians 15:26, Revelation 21:4, 2 Corinthians 4:17).

As I continue to lean into God and His Word, offering Him my questions and sorrow, He continues to meet me in my lament. And His Word has become more rich and alive in my heart. I pray it would for you as well, my friend. Bring your pain to Jesus and trust that He can handle the questions, He can handle the sorrow, and He wants to show Himself to you in a richer way than perhaps you have ever known. 

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Hi! I’m Lindsey. I live in Orlando, Florida with my stud of a husband Kevin. We have 3 incredible children, Sophie and Dasah who now live with Jesus and Jaden who came into our lives through adoption. We have a very energetic golden retriever and love living in the sunshine state. I get to spend my days loving on my son, investing my life in college students here through a non-profit organization we’re a part of and when I have time, writing on my blog about the hope that doesn’t disappoint!

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