Losing my son has carved out a permanent cavity in my soul. Though time may soften the edges of my grief, part of me will forever be occupied by his absence.

As I wade through the perpetual wake of Eli’s death – waiting for the Lord to heal – I refuse to hasten or hide my sadness. My sorrow declares the immeasurable value of my son, as “grief is existential testimony to the worth of the one loved” (Nicholas Wolterstorff).

And we have a God who does the same. As he approached his friend’s tomb, “Jesus wept.” Even though he would raise Lazarus from the dead moments later, our commiserating King slowed down and embodied the promise he proclaimed: “Blessed are those who mourn.”

Not even sovereignty bypasses sorrow.

How did those watching respond to this divine sadness?  “See how he loved him!” Jesus’ love for his friend was not primarily displayed through the miracle, but through his tears. His agony was the evidence of his affection.

Despite my son’s fatal condition and terribly brief life, he was a precious and beautiful gift. He was worth our love, so he deserves our weeping.

Leaning into our heartache is a holy endeavor. Our grief is a sacred proclamation.

“Every lament is a love song.”