I mean, it is STILL THERE. The grief ebbs and flows at times, but also appears not infrequently with a rawness that literally brings me to my knees.
I am writing about this during Advent, when I've been too overwhelmed and busy to write since May, because I know there is no way I am the only one carrying grief and heartbreak into the holidays. And those of us who are hurting need to know we are not alone!
My spiritual director replied that my grief is different than that of someone who does not have faith, because I grieve with hope. I have hope that I will see my daughter again one day. I have hope that my suffering is, in some mysterious way, useful for some greater purpose. I have hope that although I suffer in this world, it is OK, because I was not made for this world; my suffering here is temporary and will seem both fruitful and short-lived from the perspective of eternity.
Yes, my grief is different than that of someone without faith. But he also added something else I very much needed to hear—that doesn't mean it's not painful.
I don't think any of us who grieve hear that often enough. In fact, I don't think we really hear it at all.
Grief takes time. It's suffering. It's hard work. It can make you sick if you're not careful, or even if you are. Tasks that once were mundane can become profoundly difficult. Sometimes you wonder how you can possibly go on one more moment with so much pain in your heart and soul. And yet, somehow—perhaps you called out His name?—you made it through that moment, and even into the next.
Faith gives us reason to hope that our grief is not the end of the story. Perhaps I cannot even see past the next word, but I know the end of the story is stamped with Victory, and Its name is Jesus.
Jesus. He walked it all too. He was stripped of everything. His closest friends abandoned Him. He was humbled—the King of heaven and earth, given a crown of thorns. He was whipped again, and again, and again, in a manner much more painful that the hurts that assail me, even on my worst days. He fell. He fell again. And then He fell again. He had to continue uphill, with a heavy cross on his back, when I'm sure He couldn't even comprehend how to put one foot in front of the next. He experienced utter exhaustion. Searing pain shot through His hands and feet when they hammered in the nails, and then a sword pierced His heart.
Jesus understands suffering.
Jesus also understands hope. After all, He is our reason for hoping.
That Baby whose birth we are preparing for in Advent? The King whose humble entrance into our world made even the poorest, simplest shepherd unafraid to draw near?
He gave Himself to us out of love, and when He reached what certainly looked like the end of the story, He turned the world upside down by rising from the dead, by ascending to heaven, and by giving us all reason to believe that the same ending can be written into our own stories.
It's not platitudes; it's truth. Nothing is wasted. I do not understand it all, but the One who gave His life for us in the most painful of ways will not allow us to pointlessly suffer. That He does allow us to suffer is more true than I wish it were. But that He works all things to good for those who love Him (Rom 8:28) also is more true than I can imagine.
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I hope you can find some strength and encouragement in this song, Trust in You, by Laura Daigle.
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