Lessons In Grief, Part One

It has been a long, long time since I have written anything. The last two years have been a difficult gift. I had the honor of bringing my mother home with us and caring for her until her death in November of 2015. Those two years brought me to a whole new level of multitasking, a whole new level of stress, and a whole new level of blessing. God taught me so much about priorities and the importance of reconciliation during that time. Now that she has left us, and everything around me has quieted down to what normal used to be, I have time to meditate on all that God gave me at the end of my mother's life. In each quiet moment, I unwrap a jewel of heaven that He has stored up in my heart. Part of me wishes I could open them all at once, like a child beside a Christmas tree. But the opening of these gifts is a tender and poignant process. My heart, in its fragile state, can only bear so much love at a time without shattering to a million pieces on the floor.

Today after a glorious time of worship at church, my husband took the children and left me all by myself at home for some quiet time. I love it and I hate it. I love having a moment to breathe, to not have any jobs. To rest. But in the quiet, there is nowhere to be distracted from this new and constant companion of sorrow who now walks with me. My tears are always there, burning my eyes, just waiting for a moment  like this, where no one is watching or talking or needing. And so they flow. In these moments, I feel three years old again and panicked because I can't find my mommy.

But God gave me a beautiful truth in one of these moments recently. The physical pain of grief threatened to tear my chest apart as I wept for all my mother had suffered, and for how hard it had been to watch helplessly. All I had to offer her was my love and my care, even though nothing I could do in the end lessened her pain. What torture for us both! And the only person who understood that was gone. I felt so completely alone and so completely lonely. 

But then the Holy Spirit, that wonderful Comforter, whispered to me, "Do you not know that you are a temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? (1 Corinthians 3:16)And He led me into this truth: The Holy Spirit of God has entered into this body with me. He lives here, just as I do. He feels everything I feel. Everything that hurts me hurts Him. I am never alone, even in my pain. And neither was my mom.

What kind of love is that? Yes, Jesus was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3). But the best comfort is this - He still IS a man of sorrows...my sorrows. When He bears my grief, He experiences it just as I do. He enters my suffering so that He can say it and mean it. "I understand." My tears are His in these moments. And as deep and difficult as this dark valley has become, I wouldn't trade it for anything. This is where I find perfect Love, and His name is Jesus.


Father, thank You that I am never alone. Thank You that you are with me - and in me - through every step and every struggle. Thank You for Jesus, who has brought me back to You. Just as You gave me all the grace I needed to care for my mother and lead her into Your arms, I trust that You will also give me all the grace I need to go on from here. Your love is always enough.