A Cup of Comfort

Today a cloud looms over the city, shedding tear drops of rain and bellowing from its belly a tormented roar, as thunder and lightening pierce through the eerily still morning sky. I step outside with my son in toe, jump into my car to transport him safely to the bus stop and all the while my heart stirs in my chest. There is nothing unusal about this feeling. Matter of fact, I experience it every morning as I watch the school bus swiftly pass me by, carrying my little one down the street and around the corner, finally diminishing into a faint yellow blur. It is then that I pick up my heart from the pit of my stomach, praying for the Lord's protection over him, until he arrives safely back into my arms.

This particular morning, after completing the routine, I get back into my vehicle and turn up the radio to one of my favorite gospel stations. I decide to take an extra lap around my neighborhood, engrossed by the conversation going on between the on-air personality and the caller. The caller is a mother of a recently deceased thirteen year-old girl. Between periods of sobbing, she attempts to verbalize a letter that was written to her by a nurse who took care of her terminally-ill child. The nurse starts off by thanking the mother for the opportunity to spend time with her daughter. She beautifully depicts a few fond memories and light pierces through every word, into my heart. As the mother reads on, her mourning flows out from a deep pit of despair and peaks into a brief period of joy as she reminisces upon the indescribable attributes of her daughter. She says, "I couldn't even dream up a more precious child even if I tried."

I can't even begin to imagine her loss and for a moment I experience guilt. I had no right to feel the sink hole that formed in the center of my chest. In just a matter of hours, my son will return home safely to me. But, this woman weeping on the other side of my stereo system doesn't have that luxury. How badly I want to wrap my arms around her, invite her into my home, and offer her a warm cup of comfort. I don't even so much as know her name, but I feel compelled to pray beyond the barrier of unfamiliarity, for in Christ she is my sister.

Mark 5:4 states, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." Mourning comes in all shapes and forms. We may weigh out our losses in comparison with others. However, in God's eyes, our mourning is of equal value. We are all offered the same portion of comfort from His cup. All He asks of us is to receive it.

I encourage you, readers, to find somebody today who could use a warm cup of comfort. Stretch out your arms to them, invite them into your homes, and pour over them all the love God channels through you. We are called to be a body who encourages and edifies one another in His love. Are we worthy of this call? Are you willing to take the time out of your busy schedule to help a brother or sister in need? For those who are on the receiving end, please do not hide or shy away from the Source of comfort. I know sometimes we prefer to be alone in our despair, but there is love abounding, just waiting for you to accept the offer. As for the bereaved woman whose voice is forever etched on my heart, I pray that one day soon, your tears of sorrow will be replaced with tears of joy. You shall be comforted and it is here that the healing begins. I pray you do not allow His cup to pass your lips!