I’ve written about my Mom’s death a lot over the last six years. There are hundreds of posts, here and other places, that refer to it directly and/or indirectly. Her death will be a part of me forever and I’ll never go back to who I was on November 23, 2005.

I think about death a lot. I didn’t before she died, but since…all of the time. I think about hers; I think about my Dad’s; I think about my own and about my sister’s…I think about death and dying more than maybe I’d like to admit. I wonder how it will happen, where I’ll be, logical steps regarding what should happen next. Essentially I’m trying to think of all of the variables so that I won’t be surprised again; being caught on my heels when my Mom died made it so much worse, somehow. I didn’t see it coming and it knocked me for a loop. I know this is a futile exercise.

As a part of my reading for my class (Theories of Counseling) we were assigned some chapters covering Existential Theory a few weeks ago, and for each theory or general school of thought, we are learning about that theory’s basic philosophical assumptions, model of personality, model of health, model of abnormality, model of psychotherapy (and a few other things as well). While reading about ET (Existential Theory, not the movie), I came across a quote by one of ET’s premier thinkers, Irvin Yalom, a concentration camp survivor, that stopped me in my tracks. He said:

Death itches all the time.

According to Existential Theory, in our quest to be more than a fleeting blip in this life, we must concede that death is always around the corner. The reality of death is a motivating factor in the way that we live. Given Mr. Yalom’s experience in Nazi Germany, his words carry even more weight with me. He had seen hundreds, even thousands of lives carelessly but purposefully ended because of evil thinking. I couldn’t get this phrase out of my head and for me, it has been true. (I’m in a much better place now and think about death far less often than I once did, but maybe still more than the average bear. This time of year I am particularly vulnerable to sad thoughts.)

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This week our reading is about Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy and I came across another paragraph today that really made me think. The section of the textbook is about the Models of Personality, Health and Abnormality of CBT and the idea that the things we believe have a tremendous impact on our personal well-being. (Though that seems like such a given, there are models of therapy that don’t recognize the power of our cognitions.) Here it is, in its entirety:

We see this especially in the area of suffering. When we view our temporal lives as primary and have as our highest goals comfort and prosperity, then suffering will be a misery-producing and faith-undermining experience. But if suffering is viewed as an opportunity for testimony for the gospel, as a means for fellowship with Christ in his sufferings, as preparation for eternal glory through learning how to loosen our ties to this life, and as an opportunity to learn to better comfort others, suffering can be transformed into a meaningful path that one treads for the sake of God’s love. (Jones & Butman, 1991, Modern Psychotherapies, p. 211.)

This is particularly poignant to me today as some friends are walking through their worst nightmare, their own version of hell. How is God at the helm with the worst comes to be? Why does he allow awful tragedy to befall those who love him? I don’t know. My heart breaks for my friends and I am reminded of Job and the work that God did in his life. He loved God. He was a faithful, loving servant, and Satan asked for permission to  test his commitment to God.

God assented.

Satan tested.

Job remained steadfast.

Satan was defeated.

God was glorified.

Job was restored.

I don’t know what God is up to. I don’t understand why he works as he does. I can’t wrap my mind around his purposes. If I allow my suffering and the suffering of those I love to take on a purpose, then I can see God at work in places where before I only saw darkness and the itch of death.

Today I give thanks not for death, but for life. I am giving thanks for the life he has given to me and the lives he has seen fit to call “complete.” Our hearts yearn for life, but he has called them home to live with him forever, whole and restored.

Oh father, grant us the wisdom to comfort those who mourn and to use the suffering you have allowed to draw others into fellowship with you. We don’t understand. We don’t like it, but we believe, in the darkest parts of our sorrow, as on the mountaintops, that you are God. You are sovereign. You are righteous. You are wrathful. You are loving. You are just. You are good. There is none like you. We trust you with our whole lives and the things most precious to us. Use these people and these things and use us for your glory.