Comfort for the Guilt-Weary

Have you ever sought refuge from a storm? Did you feel the wind? Hear the thunder? Smell the rain rushing in on a big, black cloud more menacing that an evil clown? Did you fly to the basement and huddle in a corner praying the tornado sirens would keep blaring because at least then you would know the storm had not destroyed them? Not everyone will experience such an event, but we’ve all seen the pictures of the devastation after such a storm, especially if we live in the Midwest.

Storms are a frequent occurrence in the spring and with them come the reminder that we are so puny and weak. No one ever stood in 100+ mph winds and said, “Look at me! I’m so strong!” So, it interests me how we wander through so much of life believing we are invincible, knowledgeable, and brave.

I recently had lunch with a friend who underwent surgery for stage three skin cancer. She has a Frankenstein-like scar from her shoulder across her neck where the doctors had to dig down into the muscle to remove a growth that threatens her life. She said, “It feels so surreal to say, I have cancer.” And she looked at me with big brown eyes brimming with tears. I thought of her mother who died from cancer as she sat by her side holding her hand. The weight of those memories shone out through her pupils, a heartache immeasurable and terrifying in scope. “And to think it was preventable. If I had only worn sunscreen. If only I hadn’t gone to the tanning bed.” The “If Only’s” hung in the air like weighted balloons bobbing up and down next to us, black balloons with a white skull and crossbones etched across their circumference.

While I am not convinced skin cancer is her fault, I recognize the guilt and shame that are more crippling than the disease itself. And I am curious about the guilt that often accompanies our grief. This guilt forces us to run a marathon with burdens we cannot carry until, at last, we collapse with our sadness in utter weariness.

A friend and neighbor recently shared about the tragic loss of her dog on Facebook. She had given the dog a rawhide chew snack and the poor beasts gut couldn’t handle it, and she died. She loved her dog so much. The little girl had been a comfort in the middle of hard life circumstances and now her soft little bed was empty. My friend asked the community, “How can I bear the knowledge that I did this to her?” So, I asked her a very simple question, “If you had known the chew would harm her, would you have given it to her? No. Of course not. Let the guilt go. Give it to Jesus.”

I’m not sure where else we would go with a weight so heavy. I know from painful personal experience about these guilt-anchors that drag us to the bottom of the ocean with a slow drowning suffocation. I lost my best little friend, Tooki, a sparrow I rescued last spring, when I inadvertently opened the door without checking and he flew out behind me. I was wracked with guilt for months, even knowing that I would not have opened the door when I did if I had known he was preparing to follow me out. I grieved because I missed my friend. He was a happy little fellow that brought so much joy to our home. Guilt and grief are partners in their heaviness. They cause us to sag, stumble and fall beneath their weight.

I found myself reading the book of Romans (1:7) this morning.

“To all of those in Rome who are loved by God and called to be saints: Grace to you, and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.”

We little understand what it means that God is our Father or that Jesus is His son.

I had the most interesting conversation with my granddaughter this past Thursday morning while watching a program and she was simply AMAZED when she realized that God was the father of Jesus. “Like my daddy?” she said. “Yes.” I said. “Wow!” she said in that way little children say it with a huge gust of air behind it.

How little we know what it means to have a Father who knows our deepest secrets, our joys and our sorrows, with complete knowledge and understanding. And He has given us His grace and peace for exactly these moments when grief and guilt pile up in our hearts.

There are so many who don’t know Him. They can’t conceptualize a God that loves us to the uttermost. To many He is a scary judge with a stern face commanding us to “Be Good!” when we know very well we can’t. He knows we want that chocolate fudge brownie dessert with a mound of whipped cream and ice cream on top that is so sinful and caloric that it will drive us into a sugar coma so deep we’ll never say the work “diet” again. He knows about the bitter grudge we bear against the sibling who has rejected every attempt at relationship. He knows how the pain eats at us and weakens us. He also knows how loathe we are to let it go because it is badge of honor we wear, almost as if we are paying penance for our sin and shame. He knows how tired we are and that is why Jesus said, “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11;28)

We long for rest. Why do we find it so difficult to find?

These storms are very distracting. When the wind blows and the sirens scream, we instantly run for cover. We know danger is imminent and our hearts race faster than a snare drum during a Metallica concert and beat twice as hard. And when the storm is over our anxiety levels are so high we can’t calm down, so we reach for that chocolate lava dessert, or a glass of wine, or a “magic mushroom”. We rationalize that we only want rest and relief, and we slap away the open palm of a Savior who offers both.

Grace. And peace. This is what He offers. Will you take them and find rest for your soul?

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:29-30)

The yoke he offers is stability, safety, order, and rationale thinking. He is the author of obedience–and not because he wants to deny us the delights of our eyes, but because he wants to protect us from the frailty of our desires. Or as C.S. Lewis once wrote, “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Today, my dear friend, take comfort in knowing that rest is available and free for the taking. All it requires is that you surrender. Lay down your arms and run into His. Let Him hold you, reassure you, stabilize you and cleanse you. The cancer is not your fault, nor is the treat that stole the life of your pet. That divorce you didn’t want, the one that crushed your hope, is a burden He will gladly lift from your shoulders.