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David grieved Saul. Do we have to?
David’s mourning raises the question of how do we grieve the ending of a difficult relationship. How do we grieve when really what we might be feeling is relief or gratefulness instead of sadness? When we’re not sure exactly how we feel? When we don’t feel anything at all? When others don’t understand our response to what we have lost?
Challenging the Pacific Ocean, and God
When life throws a lot at us and we are overwhelmed to the point of being pulled under… when we are living with a loss that has rocked our world and we can’t see how we are going to make it.. when we have poured ourselves out in prayer and God has remained silent… Our faith may be shaken, and questions may fill our thoughts. In these times, what we want more than anything is for God to notice us.
The writers of the Psalms know what this feels like, and I imagine you do too.
Daring to speak laments
Lamentations is one person’s attempt to take his own personal swirling emotions and experiences and invite others to join in the expression.
A God who does not need a defense
One of the things that makes grief hard is that it often doesn’t make sense to us.
We ask questions like “Why?”, “How?”, and “Seriously, God, how much more could there possibly be?!”
We get angry at the ways we did what we were “supposed to,” but somehow we still got to where we are.
We listen as people point out that God’s still got us. But that can be really hard to believe when it feels like we are living in an empty void.
Sometimes we just need someone to sit with us and let us speak aloud our grief and share our pain.
Come, sit in the ashes with me
For Job, it was in this moment of deep pain, that three of his friends come and sat with him. They took on the signs of mourning themselves. They tore their robes and threw dust on their heads.
And they sat.
For seven days, they didn’t say a word because they knew there simply were no words.
Rediscovering joy in the changing seasons
I don’t like that my thoughts have turned all melancholy. But you know, it’s ok that they have. Just because the sun is out and the snow is melting doesn’t mean that I have to be happy, happy, joy, joy. Grief and sadness over what or who we have lost simply won’t allow it. And that’s ok. That’s part of what it means to be human and to love.
Exposed grief
We have learned to share our joys because to do otherwise is dangerous. When we are honest about our struggles, the longings which cause us to stare off into the distance, the questions and doubts causing us to re-think what we believed to be true, or how we are still struggling with the loss that rocked our world, our honesty is often dismissed. We can be made feel like our pain, as well as our faith, are being attacked.
Grieving with the world
It can be difficult when events in the world, both near and far, bring up the familiar feelings and emotions of grief. Sometimes the events remind us of our own losses, and we grieve who or what we have lost all over again. We find it easy, perhaps too easy, to empathize with those who are suffering. We know too well what it’s like to have our worlds turned up upside-down and inside out.
From Onward to Inside Out, children’s movies speak the language of grief
I grieved as I watched Riley try to make sense of what was happening, knowing my own children had gone through similar struggles. I will never watch that movie without feeling a little sadness.
Seeking comfort and rest with hygge
Nature takes these days to rest. As children of God who are created to be in relationship with creation, we can find renewal and rest when we too sit with the dark.
It’s the other losses that are going to break me
A reality of living with a loss is that it’s not the only thing that gets changed. Everything else around us changes too. We grieve our primary loss, such as the death of our person, job loss, divorce, changes in our health…
These can traumatic enough. But, there are other losses which come also. They are often called secondary losses, and their impact intrudes in areas we had thought were safe.
Letting the “should’ves” go
“You most likely did the best you could at the time with what you knew. Life is complicated. Troubles don’t take a number, and they don’t wait for their turn. They happen while we are busy with our jobs, our commitments, our families… life. It is difficult to focus on only one thing all the time, or to see the whole picture at once. If you are living with regrets and guilt, I invite you to offer yourself the same grace you would invite others to live into.”
Life Now
But, what happens when we can’t see the good things and joy of today because they are clouded over by the anger and pain of our grief? What do we do when we can’t let down our guard and defenses against another shoe dropping and causing more pain?
How do we quit allowing the grief to hollow out our lives?
Home place, shoes, and Elvis
I don’t know how it is for you, but music is a perfect escape for me. Depending on how the day is going, the direction the wind is coming from, and how much coffee I have, Spotify is cued up for jazz fusion, ‘80s hair bands, or classical music. When music is on, there is a release of emotions, tension, and even mild inhibitions (see previous comment about singing and drumming).
Until a song comes on and the memories and the grief, which are never too far away, return.
So what do we do when what has given us joy in the past can’t now?
What do we do when the holiday songs are too joyful, and too painful?
The Wall
I don’t know why I want keep this wall. There is no emotional attachment to it. I never sat on a stool and watched my grandpa work on a tool that needed attention. I never played in the barn as a child. And yet, I don’t want to see it thrown into the dumpster with all of the other usable pieces at the end. It just seems too…important for that.
Hold on until December 22
We still have 38 days until December 21st, the shortest day of the year. Thirty-eight more days of increasing darkness. And, I don’t know how you’re doing, but I may be limping to December 22, when the darkness will start receding.
Yet, my struggle isn’t so much with whether Elizabethtown is on Eastern Time (it is), or whether we need to leave an hour early to catch a flight out of Nashville (I think so?).
My struggle is with the ever encroaching darkness that steals a little bit more of our light every day.
Remembering
I can’t undo the losses each of us have lived through. I can’t bring back those whom each of us are grieving. However, I offer these thoughts, and I pray they provide some comfort.
How are you?
So, what are we supposed to do when we’re not okay? What about when it feels like the world has fallen apart around us, and we aren’t sure how to pick up the pieces? What about when the deathiversary of our person is in a few days and we’re grieving their absence a little extra today? Or when something reminds us of what has been lost and we could really use someone to listen to our story again?
What about those days when you’re just sad?
What are you supposed to say then?
Seeking order in the chaos
To be honest, what usually pushes me outside is the maddening admission that I can’t undo any of our losses. I can’t make any of the consequences we are living with right themselves. I can’t make others understand the grief we still feel. I can’t fix any of it.
Good words to sit with
It might seem odd then, that last week I decided to give meditation a try. Mainly I did it because I realized that my time of meditation is whatever I want it to be. Although basically it’s sit quietly, breathe in, hold, and breathe out. Yup, that very practice which threw me off yoga is what I’m attempting to do again. But this time it’s different.