The past three days have been bliss.
Snow fell, providing ample opportunity to enjoy little moments and reflect.
Reflect on how the Lord has been drawing me closer to Himself in painful ways.
I write not to complain about how hard my semester was–because I could do that, but I would be completely missing the point of why God allows us to endure seasons that are harder than others. I share in the hopes of comforting others who have also walked with tired feet through a rough season this past year. My goal for this is not for anyone to feel sorry for me. My goal is to be the loving voice that whispers to struggling sisters (or brothers!) and says “Hey, Me too”.
My uncle passed away 12 weeks ago. Unexpectedly.
Simply typing those words hurt, hurt in a way that I didn’t know was possible for my heart.
I guess I always had this notion that grieving with hope would be easy to do and a delight as believers.
I have been holding his story tightly to my chest, refraining from having numerous conversations because of the pain involved, unbeknownst to me, I’ve been silently suffocating my grief.
One of the most offensive questions that I have received more times than I can even count was “were you close to him?” As though a ‘yes’ would then justify sadness and sorrow, if my answer was ‘no’, would that make the death okay?
“Were you close to him?” coming from a culture that justifies grieving when their favorite football team loses a game. Please take that question out of your vocabulary. Why not try asking for the loved ones name as a knee jerk response instead.
This has been a season of my life where I have never felt closer to the Lord and yet never felt further at the same time. I don’t really know how to explain that one. If you have ever lost a loved one, then that statement should sound familiar. Kari Jobe's song Sing Along, and I Am Not Alone have gotten me through many sleepless nights.
Looking back, it has been neat to see how intricately the Lord has cared for me.
In August, I applied and was accepted to work on campus as part of the nightly cleaning crew. During the interview I posed the question “Will I get lonely?” The thought of being in a building all by myself was not ideal in my mind.
Little did I know that in four short weeks it would be exactly what I needed.
Since September 19th, 2016, it has taken so much energy to have a desire to be around people, engage in conversation, smile, and live in community.
Hear me, I adore these things, yet I have had to actively push myself to take part in them all while feeling worn down by a huge weight on my heart.
I’ll never forget, about two weeks after my uncle’s funeral, I went downtown to watch a local play. Loved the performance, yet it was so draining to be in a room full of kind people, while actively knowing that I now had one less. Afterwards I got in my car, and sat in the parking lot for an hour. Numb.
Going in to work, and being alone in a building for hours was the best balm that I didn’t even foresee needing. It provided me with daily opportunities to be by myself and weep, listen to Scripture being sung over me, and cry out to the Lord while no one was around. To this day, I don’t know if the bathroom floors got more cleaned by my tears or mop water.
The Lord was gentle with me, and started preparing my healing process in August.
I do not know how long it will take, and I am not concerned about knowing either.
My desire is to grieve well, grieve in a society in which grief is found to be taboo, being quickly watered down as depression and cause for immediate concern.
Grieving is Biblical, and natural. We should not be people that sanitize grief, we should draw it out, explore it, and encourage it. I do not know exactly what healthy grieving looks like because it is not cookie cutter for each person. But I know God, and I know that He is with me, and big enough to handle all of me.
I have been walking through a book by author Nancy Guthrie on grief, titled What grieving
people wish you knew about: What really Helps and What
really Hurts. Guthrie
experienced the death of two of her children. She conducted a survey of many people that had faced loss and compiled the responses that she received into a book. This has been a treat to read through.
Here are a few quotes from the book:
“When you are grieving, you know who has acknowledged it in some way and who hasn’t. You just do. Saying something about it tells me that you know that it’s there, and you care that it’s there, and you care about me. Not mentioning it, for whatever reason, makes me feel less cared for by you. In fact, because you choose not to say anything about it, because you choose not to acknowledge it, I find myself doubting whether you care about me at all, because this is the hardest, biggest thing in my life. If you don’t acknowledge it, much less enter into it with me, it puts a huge distance between us.”
Snow fell, providing ample opportunity to enjoy little moments and reflect.
Reflect on how the Lord has been drawing me closer to Himself in painful ways.
I write not to complain about how hard my semester was–because I could do that, but I would be completely missing the point of why God allows us to endure seasons that are harder than others. I share in the hopes of comforting others who have also walked with tired feet through a rough season this past year. My goal for this is not for anyone to feel sorry for me. My goal is to be the loving voice that whispers to struggling sisters (or brothers!) and says “Hey, Me too”.
My uncle passed away 12 weeks ago. Unexpectedly.
Simply typing those words hurt, hurt in a way that I didn’t know was possible for my heart.
I guess I always had this notion that grieving with hope would be easy to do and a delight as believers.
I have been holding his story tightly to my chest, refraining from having numerous conversations because of the pain involved, unbeknownst to me, I’ve been silently suffocating my grief.
One of the most offensive questions that I have received more times than I can even count was “were you close to him?” As though a ‘yes’ would then justify sadness and sorrow, if my answer was ‘no’, would that make the death okay?
“Were you close to him?” coming from a culture that justifies grieving when their favorite football team loses a game. Please take that question out of your vocabulary. Why not try asking for the loved ones name as a knee jerk response instead.
This has been a season of my life where I have never felt closer to the Lord and yet never felt further at the same time. I don’t really know how to explain that one. If you have ever lost a loved one, then that statement should sound familiar. Kari Jobe's song Sing Along, and I Am Not Alone have gotten me through many sleepless nights.
Looking back, it has been neat to see how intricately the Lord has cared for me.
In August, I applied and was accepted to work on campus as part of the nightly cleaning crew. During the interview I posed the question “Will I get lonely?” The thought of being in a building all by myself was not ideal in my mind.
Little did I know that in four short weeks it would be exactly what I needed.
Since September 19th, 2016, it has taken so much energy to have a desire to be around people, engage in conversation, smile, and live in community.
Hear me, I adore these things, yet I have had to actively push myself to take part in them all while feeling worn down by a huge weight on my heart.
I’ll never forget, about two weeks after my uncle’s funeral, I went downtown to watch a local play. Loved the performance, yet it was so draining to be in a room full of kind people, while actively knowing that I now had one less. Afterwards I got in my car, and sat in the parking lot for an hour. Numb.
Going in to work, and being alone in a building for hours was the best balm that I didn’t even foresee needing. It provided me with daily opportunities to be by myself and weep, listen to Scripture being sung over me, and cry out to the Lord while no one was around. To this day, I don’t know if the bathroom floors got more cleaned by my tears or mop water.
The Lord was gentle with me, and started preparing my healing process in August.
I do not know how long it will take, and I am not concerned about knowing either.
My desire is to grieve well, grieve in a society in which grief is found to be taboo, being quickly watered down as depression and cause for immediate concern.
Grieving is Biblical, and natural. We should not be people that sanitize grief, we should draw it out, explore it, and encourage it. I do not know exactly what healthy grieving looks like because it is not cookie cutter for each person. But I know God, and I know that He is with me, and big enough to handle all of me.
I have been walking through a book by author Nancy Guthrie on grief, titled What grieving
experienced the death of two of her children. She conducted a survey of many people that had faced loss and compiled the responses that she received into a book. This has been a treat to read through.
Here are a few quotes from the book:
“When you are grieving, you know who has acknowledged it in some way and who hasn’t. You just do. Saying something about it tells me that you know that it’s there, and you care that it’s there, and you care about me. Not mentioning it, for whatever reason, makes me feel less cared for by you. In fact, because you choose not to say anything about it, because you choose not to acknowledge it, I find myself doubting whether you care about me at all, because this is the hardest, biggest thing in my life. If you don’t acknowledge it, much less enter into it with me, it puts a huge distance between us.”
“We are learning so much in our grief. We are eager to share and
process these things with others. It’s so helpful when we don’t have to be the
ones to bring it up. When the opportunity presents itself, it is so helpful
when you ask good, open-ended questions. We want to talk, and share, and
recount, and remember, and give testimony to God’s faithful work in the midst
of our sorrow and pain.”
"I wish people had
understood that when they said things like, 'we are here for you, whatever you
need, just ask,' it wasn't helpful. Often they were hurt when I didn't ask, and
then I needed to manage those tensions in our relationship in addition to
everything else we were dealing with. Many days I didn't know what I needed
help with. I just felt alone and like I was drowning. Offering help but not
taking initiative practically pushes the responsibility onto the person who is
grieving and adds yet another burden."
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