Here I Raise My Ebenezer
It was the worst day of my life, though I didn’t know it at the time. In fact, the morning seemed uneventful to the point of being boring. Even when the shock came hours later, I thought it too awful to be true. I pleaded and begged for it to be a cruel joke. I thought it must surely have been a nightmare I’d wake up from eventually.
But it wasn’t. Not a joke, nor a nightmare. The events of the ensuing weeks felt like torture. In fact, it would be 33 long days before I could make it through a single one without tears. And “day zero” would come to separate my life into the before and after.
The details of this loss, however, are not what I want to chronicle today. Instead, I want to record just a few of the small wonders and gifts that helped me get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other amidst such great grief. In the Bible, God’s people mark such events with the Hebrew word Ebenezer, which translates to “stone of help” (eben = stone; ezer = help).
Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, “Till now the LORD has helped us.” —1 Samuel 7:12
When we sing “here I raise my Ebenezer” in the hymn Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, we reference this same stone of help to mark the assistance God provides in times of trouble.
So this is why I am writing today—to mark just a few of the ways God has provided for me in my grief.
A long-ago-created playlist
At five-days-after, I recalled a song I’d once shared with someone else who faced their own deep pain. Searching my music library, I noticed I’d added the song in question to a playlist I hadn’t touched in four years. Reading the titles, it all came rushing back to me: the urgent desire to support this other person, which led me to write up a whole pamphlet listing 12 ways to prioritize truth when the world turns dark. Strategy number five is to offer a sacrifice of praise. I’d even made public versions of the playlist on Apple Music and YouTube.
I sat there, listening to the songs for the first time as the recipient instead of the sender. One is I’ll be OK by Lydia Laird. That first day, I yelled at the song, refusing to believe the words could ever be true. The next day, I felt the same, but forced myself to sing a few of the lyrics: make me OK, make me OK.
Eventually, many (many) singing days later, I felt a glimmer of hope that it might someday feel possible. I cried at God’s providence, that he would have me create something I’d so desperately need… more than four years prior. And I thanked my former self for listening to his prompting.
Being seen and comforted when I tried to hide
At one-week after, I knew I needed to get out of bed, but desperately searched for a reason. I should go to church, my rational mind advised. Not a chance, my emotions replied. At 15 minutes before the start of the first service, I forced myself up, threw on some clothes, and set out for the six-minute drive, popping a mint in my mouth for good measure.
I slipped into not-my-normal-section at not-my-normal-service and did my best to hide. Tears streamed down my face at regular intervals, but if anyone noticed they kept it to themselves. As I attempted my escape after the final song, I glimpsed a friend from my small group coming in to the second service with her family. Quickly, I veered away from them to exit out a different set of doors, but she changed her course to cross my path. Ugh, I thought, I really don’t want to do this now. Too late—she saw my tear-stained face, pulled me to the side, and asked, “What happened?”
My two-sentence response was all she needed to envelop me in a hug. “Why haven’t you told us?” she gently wondered. I confessed my desire to hide, citing disbelief, fear, and shame. Pushing away all of that, she prayed aloud for healing and recovery.
The kindness of shared burdens
At her prompting, I agreed to attend the women’s Christmas event being held later that evening. Returning to the parking later, I again felt compelled to hide. Shortly before it began, I entered an empty row at the back of the group, expecting to be alone. But then two other smiling ladies from my small group entered the row and asked to set with me. I numbly nodded in reply and was grateful the music started quick enough to prevent any further conversation.
The speaker seemed to know exactly what I needed to hear. As I tried my best to cry silently, the woman to my left grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to help carry this burden.” She then proceeded to keep ahold of my hand until the speaker finished and we stood to close in song, at which point she put her arm around me and prayed. Her actions were awkward (who, outside of very specific relationships, holds anyone’s hand in public for that long?), courageous (for the same reason), and so, so kind.
As a result of these encounters, I sent a very brief message to our small group the next morning, letting them know what I was facing. I simply asked them to pray and, as God brought me to mind, maybe check in sometimes.
A meal from a neighbor
Another night early on, when I had hastily declined a dinner-party invitation without much explanation, the host showed up at my door carrying still-warm portions of each item on the menu. Taking a look around, concern washing over her face. Despite the guests in her home, she stayed to encourage me until she was sure I was OK to be alone.
Being brought to mind
While I had started working again, the non-work hours dragged by mercilessly. There were a few days, in particular, where I had nothing to do after 3pm, and I told God I didn’t know how I’d survive. On every single “empty” day since, he answered by prompting a different friend to reach out for a chat, walk, game, or meal. I cried some more, but this time in gratitude.
During other difficult moments, someone would call or text, even if just to listen to me cry. Or, scripture would show up on my phone and speak to me in ways nothing else could. And on so many mornings during Shane & Shane’s daily worship devo, I’d lift sob-filled praise to lyrics that were like healing ointment to my soul.
The kindness of strangers
At two-weeks after, I found myself once again in church. Despite all of the kindnesses, I still felt a temptation to hide. I sat against the wall in an otherwise empty row. During the meet-and-greet, I made chit-chat with a couple behind me. “Are you new?” the woman asked. “No,” I replied, “just not sitting in my normal section.” “Welcome to the cool section,” they joked.
Afterward, as we stood to leave, she tapped my shoulder, saying, “I feel like you could use a hug?” Once again, I was struck by the courage of this woman — a stranger to me — who would listen to God’s prompting to show such tender-living kindness to someone in public, without asking for details or making any judgments. This type of behavior is awkward and certainly uncomfortable for the initiator. Yet, each of these encounters was exactly what I needed to feel seen and loved when everything in me wanted to hide in grief and pain—and they were all examples of God’s ever-present help.
May it also be said of me
I’ve written before about this type of caring—offering our supportive presence, even when we cannot fix that which is broken.
No matter how awkward or uncomfortable it might feel to ask a stranger if you can hug them or hold your friend’s hand until their tears subside, this is exactly the type of one-another love and support we’re called to convey. When God brings someone to mind, pray for them and let them know! I can attest to how such a message can offer immense encouragement.
Seasons of pain and grief are part of the human experience. I long for the promised day when Christ’s followers will gather to celebrate the end of such suffering. Until then, I raise my Ebenezer to leave evidence of God’s goodness for my future self… just when she needs it.
“The birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus means that one day everything sad will come untrue.” — J.R.R. Tolkien
God's healing grace and provision shine through your words, Wendy. What a powerful testimony to read, and how comforting to see how our God is working faithfully in our lives. Thank you for sharing.