It was a Friday in January. Actually, it was a Friday, January 29. Just as today’s date. An ordinary Friday. Just like today. Eleven years ago, I sipped coffee with my husband, anticipating the upcoming weekend. Just like today.

But it ended abruptly hours later. My husband complained of a pain in his head, and before I knew it, he was gone. It was unanticipated. Final.

How does one survive incidents like that? I can’t speak for others, but I can tell you from my own experience. I couldn’t have survived without the Holy Spirit–a part of the Trinity. While I wept those days of shock and mourning, the Spirit reminded me He was there with me, weeping. Remembering. Surviving.

Last week, I wrote out words of an old hymn, Come Mourn with Me Awhile, not remembering this Friday was a banner day for remembering. The day my husband, Blair left our home for his heavenly home.

Blair Graybill, 1944 – 2010

This morning I read in the Psalms. I’ve been drawn back to this psalm often the past few weeks. It fits my situation now. It fit that day eleven years ago too. And in other times of shock. Sorrow. Loss. Remembering. Here it is:
  7 The law of the Lord is perfect,

    refreshing the soul.
The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy,
    making wise the simple.
8 The precepts of the Lord are right,
    giving joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are radiant,
    giving light to the eyes.
9 The fear of the Lord is pure,
    enduring forever.
The decrees of the Lord are firm,
    and all of them are righteous. (Psalm 19:7-9)

In my seven decades of life (yes, seven), I have learned those bolded words to be true. Perfect. Trustworthy. Right. Radiant. Pure. Firm.

I am not perfect, but the law of the Lord is. I don’t always follow the statutes (a permanent rule), but they are trustworthy. The precepts (commandment or rule), are right and give joy. The commands are radiant and give light to the eyes. The fear (to have reverential awe) of the Lord is pure. The decrees of the Lord are firm.

This day, eleven years ago now, on a Friday in January, I experienced loss. I knew I would be a different person. A person who knows sorrow. A person who knows joy. A person who knows comfort.

I don’t know where you are right now. You might be fresh in your sorrow of loss. Or you, too, are remembering a loss from some time ago. If you don’t know that Person who can comfort you as no one else can, I invite you to explore the Word of God. Seek Him. He’s there.