Held by the Comforter

(By Rachel Joyce)

When I was little, my dad used to take me into my grandparents’ woods to get firewood for the winter. I’d stand at a distance, hands over my ears, trying to muffle the buzzing roar of the chainsaw as it bit through the thick trunk. There was always a pause— an almost breathless moment — just before the tree toppled. 

As Dad’s strong arm pressed against the rough bark, the tree would begin to lean and I’d brace myself for what came next: the sharp crack of the wood splitting, the swish of leafy branches cascading through nearby trees, and finally the heavy thud as it struck the ground so hard I could feel the vibrations in my body. 

And always that fresh, indescribably beautiful woodsy smell of a newly cut tree.

I loved watching the first few trees crash to the ground, shouting, “Timber!” as loud as I could. But Dad worked tirelessly felling tree after tree, and after a while, my interest waned.

I’d venture off to explore: climbing over rocks, crunching through the thick carpet of dried leaves, and embarking on imaginary adventures. Sometimes, I’d wander away from the noise and, lying down in the leaves, I’d gaze into the sky.

Each breeze set the treetops swaying, releasing a light shower of gold, orange, and red leaves. The gentle warmth of the autumn sun felt good on my face as I lay there content, surrounded by the beauty God had made.

But those are distant memories now. And when I hear the chainsaw now, it reverberates in my chest with the heaviness of grief.

Help me, comfort me, Lord. How long does it take to heal from the death of a father? You know what grief feels like. You sacrificed your Son for me on that old wooden cross. I give You my sorrow. Your Word describes You as the source of all comfort. God of all comfort, comfort me now. I miss him so much.

I miss what was: his strong arms always ready to give a hug; his earnestness and care for everyone he met; his constant support and enthusiasm for my women’s ministry, his love for Jesus, for Mom, and for me.

I miss what never will be: the conversations we’ll never share, the relationship my little granddaughter will not have because she won’t remember him, and so much more.

Each time grief wells up over the loss of my father, I lift my heart to my heavenly Father and pour it all out to Him, again and again.

And the God of all comfort comforts me.

“All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4a).

Our God truly is the source of all comfort. Being a lover of words, I was curious to see what the word comfort was in the Bible’s original text. Interestingly, it’s παράκλησις (paraklēsis), related to the word Jesus uses for the Holy Spirit, the Comforter/Paraclete (paraklētos). 

Both come from the word παρακαλέω (parakaleō), which is made up of two words: para (near or beside) and kaleo (to call). Essentially, it means “to call to one’s side” and includes the idea of coming to your aid, helping, pleading your cause, interceding, encouraging, comforting. 

It’s the comfort of having someone close who is for you, who helps you, stands up for you, and has your back. 

How beautiful that God our Father is the source of this comfort, the Spirit is the Comforter who has drawn near to dwell within us, and the Son bore our grief and carried our sorrows in His own body on the cross (2 Corinthians 1:3, John 14:16, Isaiah 53:4).

If your heart feels heavy with sadness or grief, pause and bring it to Him. Let the nearness of His presence surround and hold you. Let His comfort fill your heart, strengthening your soul with peace and hope.