A Bridge Where Death Was

Two nights ago, I happened upon the sweet movie Bridge to Terabithia. Beautiful, beautiful. Of course I cried my way through the last part of the movie, as I always did. Even knowing what would happen, I cried. This time, though, the Lord gave me a new insight. Jess built a bridge where death had been. Instead of the gaping wound left by his friend’s death and a gnawing rope over the mouth of a raging river, he moved forward, creating something useful and stunning–a gateway to a new world. And that new world involved relationship.

I don’t know how, yet, but perhaps God is telling me to build a bridge in the aftermath of France. A bridge that opens relationships. A bridge that stands defiantly against the loss and grief. I pray that in building this bridge, healing comes nail by nail, plank by plank. And that by building it, I will shed the legacy of sadness once and for all. You’ve probably seen a lot of my grief here, splayed open on the pages of this blog. And I’m finally here to say I’m tired of it. It’s time to move on and build a bridge.

When I gave away the painting that reminded me of some dark times, I felt a huge weight come off. I love that I didn’t sell it. (My mom offered to buy it, but the shipping was goofy-high). I love that the pain, in a way, was let go. I love that I will never know who bought it. I love that a charity will profit from it. It seems silly, but driving away from the donation place, I felt freedom.

I don’t know what bridge building looks like. I pray the Lord will show me. But beyond that, I want to ask you this: What is your grief? What is its landscape? How does the river mock below? And how would it look to build a bridge there instead of gazing into the depths? It’s an act of faith to take up a hammer. Pray for me as I try.

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