I’ve been walking a long season of grief. That’s hard for me to say. Of course there have been moments of great joy and sweetness, but in general, I’m sad. I’ve fought feelings of deep sadness and anxiety for four years. I try to shake it, but it’s unrelenting.
Four years ago I was so hopeful. We had become home owners for the first time. Ministry was taking off. I was sending my littlest to school and had days open for writing and loving people. That year ended with us having to put our house on the market and pull up our roots yet again. Betrayal is too small a word to describe how I felt. Through a set of circumstances my identity was shattered.
2014, our first year in Georgia was one of constant transition and movement. We lived in four temporary houses until finally buying our current home. During the second year my mom died. The next year we adopted an 11 year old, which had its own traumas. I went from being a full time mom and pastor’s wife to working in the school system full time. So much loss and transition in less than four years.
So often I’m tempted to guard my heart from you, to hide my grief. I don’t want to weigh people down. I assume you think I should be over the grief of my mom dying. It’s been two and a half years after all. I’m the pastor’s wife. I should be giving, not taking. But I can’t ignore the grief I feel.
Perhaps, I need a paradigm shift regarding grief. Wikipedia defines grief this way: “Grief is a multifaceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something that has died, to which a bond or affection was formed.”
There are lots of things we can grieve. Certainly the death of a loved one. But we can also grieve the loss of time, the loss of health, the loss of a dream, the loss of a relationship, the loss of security, the loss of opportunity, etc.
In the west we are terrified of pain and sorrow, but really grief can be a very good thing. Jesus himself entered into grieving the loss of the purity and perfection he had planned for humanity at the beginning of time. He grieved over Jerusalem, grieved Lazarus’ death, grieved his followers lack of faith. Isaiah calls him a man of sorrow.
I’ve known for a good while that sorrow and joy quite often go hand in hand. Seasons fluctuate, sorrow swells and then dissipates, joy billows and wanes. One does not exclude the other. And yet, even in the knowing, it’s easy to disdain sorrow, I’ve been embarrassed by it, feared judgement for it. We can tolerate a blue day. But what happens when days turn into months?
I’m learning sorrow is an invitation.
- It’s an invitation into the heart of God. Because a father who didn’t grieve the brokenness of his children and his creation, would be no father at all.
- It’s an invitation to evaluate the past, evaluate priorities, evaluate expectations, evaluate the heart, and evaluate our relationship with Jesus.
- It’s an invitation into rebirth. Sometimes, what has been must be grieved so that what will be can be born.
- And it’s an invitation into relationship. We can relate and help each other when we’re honest about loss. Ultimately grief is an opportunity to offer understanding.
No one knows grief better than Jesus. And yet, no one knows joy better either. Jesus was with the Father in the beginning. He knew the moment fellowship was broken with his friends, Adam and Eve. When they chose their own wisdom over honoring the Father’s boundaries. Jesus knew exactly what the cost would be to repair that relationship.
His earthly life was short, filled with misunderstanding and rejection, and ultimately his death was humiliating. Jesus deserved all worship, but died as a criminal. It was a gory, shameful, embarrassing death. His disciples left him to face it alone. Maybe they were ashamed of him. He didn’t look like the leader they’d thought he was. Were they disappointed? Once again relationships were fractured.
The cross was scandalous, by appearance the ultimate failure. Of course, God’s priorities aren’t ours. He doesn’t have to save face or prove anything. He’s not afraid to grieve or stand with us in our sorrow. He isn’t afraid to be identified with us, regardless of our shame, he’s bigger than shame anyway. He knows disappointment and rejection. He understands it all. Better still he’s gained victory over every shame, failure, and loss.
Sorrow is an invitation to see our lives through his perspective and grab hold of eternal meaning. There are lots of things we should grieve, because there are lots of things that aren’t the way they were created to be.
My mom always said I was melodramatic. Which may be true, but I think mostly I feel things deeply. Perhaps it takes me longer to move past the hurts that accumulate over the years. So many things aren’t the way they should be. The discord of fallen creation lands sharply on my ear.
Parents that abandon kids, animals that get run over in the road, water that’s polluted, children that die, racial injustice, houses that catch fire, elderly tucked away in invisible loneliness. My heart is sensitive to sorrow. But maybe that’s not bad. Maybe that sensitivity to loneliness can cause us to bring the lonely into our families. Maybe grief pushes us to be inclusive and responsible.
When we let it, grief leads us to the foot of an embarrassing, humiliating cross. The cross that identifies with our own weakness and failure. Jesus never sinned, but he does empathize with our human experience. I’m glad he’s approachable because I need to approach him again and again. The ebb and flow of joy and sorrow, victory and set back are natural. That’s life. As long as our hearts return to the welcome of the cross and worship at the throne.
You may resent your sorrow and hide from grief, but I say grief is good. In God’s hand its force can shape our hearts to reveal contours of character we never knew possible. Grief is good when it puts our hand on the hem of Jesus robe, desperate for his healing presence. Grief is good when it births genuine worship for a living, present, good God. Praise in the darkness is the sweetest. It costs the most.
Becoming a Woman of Influence 