He Hideth My Soul

He Hideth My Soul

Our minds were reeling with the news of Justin’s accident. The sheriff’s office patiently walked us through our next steps as we tried to process this horrific loss. They asked us if we had any clergy that could come and be with us. I called a friend and incoherently told her that we needed to get ahold of one of our pastors.

Not too long after, two precious pastors came to be with us in our darkest hour early that Sunday morning. They hugged us, sat with us, said little, and listened a lot. I remember them praying over us as they expressed their own anguish for the pain that we were facing. Upon their parting, they gave us two excellent words of wisdom that I remember to this day:

  • Take care of yourself and your family, this is a season to huddle
  • Grief is isolating

In grief, there are many adjustments and much to process. I wake up daily to the reality that our Justin has departed from this world. Like an optometrist painstakingly working to adjust his patient’s prescription to 20/20 vision, I find myself working to adjust my mind to the fact that this is our new normal. Everything looks different because everything is different. There’s an unfamiliar dynamic at work in our family. Our firstborn, the trailblazer of the Linkletter five, is gone. My children lost their big brother and their best friend. Our once loud and laughter filled home has taken on a more subdued liveliness. Somewhere along the way, it has become a normality for one of us to randomly begin to cry and for the rest of us to huddle around the one.

In the early days, the more people who could be around us, the better. As the days have turned into weeks, and the weeks have become months, it has become more difficult to interact with others as we normally once did. The loss of Justin is a searing pain and leaves little room for pleasantries and small talk. I have found that the isolation is not from a lack of people caring, the isolation happens inwardly.

During these heavy-hearted periods, it is often too laborious to try to express what I am feeling. In these times, I have repeatedly asked the Lord to “hide me”. I allow myself to weep and I know without a doubt that He understands the depth of my pain for He is the one who made me a Mother and gave me such love for my children. When I whisper, “Hide me, Lord”, I imagine Him holding me tight much like a Daddy holds his distraught little girl. I am reminded of Fanny Crosby’s hymn, “He Hideth My Soul”:

He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.

While walking through this grief, I struggle to complete daily tasks. The laundry gets done on an “as needed” basis and dinner is often thrown together at the last-minute. Our homeschool days are less than ideal. Honestly, I can become easily discouraged about such things. I have a dear friend who often reminds me that there’s grace upon grace for me and every single follower of Christ Jesus. She is so right! These things will come in due time. For now, He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, He hideth my life in the depths of His love, and covers me there with His hand.

Forever held in His grace,

Missy

He Hideth My Soul II

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15 thoughts on “He Hideth My Soul”

  • I have no words for how strong you are. God is powerfully working through you…My heart is aching for the terrible loss your family has experienced, but at the same time I am rejoicing at the comfort the Father has brought you-and that He has called you to share hope with others. You are an inspiration and a light. How rare it is for someone to go through such unshakable pain and still cling so tightly to all that is left: Jesus. You have blessed my heart greatly and I admire your strength. You are an amazing mama, wife, and daughter of the King.
    Love,
    Hannah

  • Thank you for allowing people to follow your journey. Somewhere in the back of our brains we know that following Christ is not a cake walk – but somehow we convince ourselves that everything will always be okay. God’s okay with things not being okay – but he promises to be there with us through it.

  • Isolation happens Inwardly. So true ! I find so much comfort reading your posts. You who lost your beloved son is penning words to help so many who lost their loved one.

    Anointed Sister , may you ever hide in the cleft of the ROCK and be led by HIS comforting hand

  • Missy, firstly, thank you so much for sharing this. Thank you for giving us a glimpse into the sacred place…that place of loss that is so vulnerable. Secondly, I can relate in my own way. When I got “the news”, I went into a fierce state of shock…I felt like I was falling in many different directions, and my world stopped, even though everyone around kept going. I started my (original) blog a year and half after my only sibling’s murder and in the midst of a separation. It was my place of pouring out. Thank you, I think people need to be able to receive comfort and to know they are not alone! Blessings to you all…

  • This got me! I have not experienced the loss of a child, but the fear of losing one can sometimes become crippling. I remember a lady at church talking about surrendering our children to the Lord and your beauty and grace in this season is so fresh and transparent. I pray that
    Your family will be blessed and that joy will come in the morning. 💕

  • This is beautiful and heartbreaking. I found myself crying reading your story. I have 4 siblings, all brothers and my oldest one died at 17, when I was 10. This line in your post pulled me back in time; “There’s an unfamiliar dynamic at work in our family. Our firstborn, the trailblazer of the Linkletter five, is gone. My children lost their big brother and their best friend.” These words describe the exact feeling that was in our home all those long years ago…
    Thank you for writing and sharing your heart and your grief- you are giving a gift far beyond what you know with your words. I am so very sorry for the loss of your precious son…

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