Between a Rock and a Hard Place

One of the things on my bucket list has been to visit a National Park every year. This year I made it to Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park. Both contained beautiful landscapes of rocks, crevices, and mountains. On one particular hike in Bryce Canyon, I discovered a trail beneath the massive rocks, that led through the valley floor of the canyon. At one point, there were two rocks that formed a wedge where you could see the other side, like an eye of a needle. It was literally, the space between a rock and a hard place.

In some ways it formed the picture that I couldn’t put words to, in describing my first year of grieving the sudden loss of my husband. I was climbing between two massive rocks, my past and my present, and trying to move up, and not stay stuck in the place where I was. The climb up and out had to be calculated, step by step. I had to figure out where to place each of my hands so that I could then position each foot so I could determine my next move.

The discoveries that lie in the space between the rock and a hard place aren’t easily seen. What I discovered in that space was how my faith was carrying me through. My relationship with God became my lifeline and reading the Psalms of lament were reflections of my heart cries . The last verse of Psalm 88, “darkness is my closest friend” gave words to where I was. Other Psalms of lament expressed my sorrow and sadness, and yet reminded me that God was still there. In Psalm 13, David cries out to God, In verse 2, “How long will my enemy dominate me? Consider me and answer, Lord my God.” And then in verse 5, David says, “But I have trusted in your faithful love.” David expressed his pain, poured out his heart and proclaimed that God was still worthy of trust and completely faithful in His love.

In that small, sliver of light between the rock and the hard place lies a glimmer of hope; hope to keep going and not get stuck. Life will have places that we find ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s there we must choose to look for a sliver of light that gives hope.

In The First Year of Loss?

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