Oh good grief

Grief comes like waves. Consistent, but for me, very unpredictable. It depends on the day, the time, or even the moment whether or not it is just my feet that are covered with toes peeking through the sudsy ice-cold water. Or whether my legs are being overtaken and battered against, muscles burning and toes cramping, to keep dug deep to assure my foothold. Or whether the salty and sandy air is assaulting the only glimpses of my bare skin that are clear of the churning waters, as I stand face forward into the waves, strategically finding the right second to suck in a quick breath of what I hope will be clean air, in-between those powerful forces that are grief.

Grief isn’t just a missionary thing. It isn’t just parents and siblings separated from their daughters / sisters by half a globe thing. Grief is a reality for us all. You and me. Me and you. Them, us, we… will all deal with grief. I choose to make a bold assumption that every single one of us reading this is dealing with grief, has dealt with grief, or has grief on the horizon. On some sort of level. Grief seeps in following trauma, transition, separation, loss, death and life. Living in this sin-soaked reality is hard work and has ugly consequences. And grief is real and raw and painful and messy to whoever is feeling it. The circumstances of grief cannot diminish or add to the reality of its existence.

But.

Grief is extremely prevalent here in missionary land. Grief is prevalent enough here in missionary land that I have yet to meet a person untouched by recent grief.

And, guys, it touches everyone here. Even our littles. (Which can bring heavy, hard and fast waves of hurt for a momma heart.) Here is missionary land; we all deal with separation and loss again and again and again. Over and over and over again. People come, settle deep into our hearts, become sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles and grandpas and grandmas and best friends… and then they go. And their departure can feel like death. They go because they have grown beyond this place. They go because our good, loving, faithful and gracious God takes them to their new place. They go because people get sick, hurt or extended families far away get sick or hurt. Interpersonal crud can even take people away (and here y’all were all thinking we were perfect people in missionary land!). Death takes people away. Families far away need their families that are here, and so often, they go. For one reason or another we will all eventually go. Couple the external stresses of life in this wonderfully complex place filled to the max with culture galore and those fresh waves of grief will have us all, coming, going or staying, sinking our feet deep to keep our foothold.  

“Let your roots grown down deep into Him, and let your lives be built on Him.” Colossians 2:7 NT

I have been twirling ideas about grief around inside my head for weeks and months now. Maybe because my grief is exceptionally raw right now? Or maybe because I see and know and feel the grief that weighs heavy on the people of this place, myself included, in a new and fresh way because we just returned from furlough? But anyhow, to put it frankly, even with all my “efforts” to understand it, I just can’t get ahold of all the realities of grief. My own or that of others. I can’t seem to figure it all out (gracious me – I don’t think my finite little mind could ever), but I am learning some things. Some things I am learning from listening or watching others and other things from reading, praying, and of course talking and walking my way though it.

(Remember, I am not any thing even remotely near an expert. Duh! You can even choose to disagree, and that is okay with me. These are just some of my take-aways from what the Lord is teaching me in my right now.)

1. As a Christ-follower I have hope amidst my grief.

“so you will not grieve like people who have no hope” 1 Thessalonians 4:13 NLT

Yes, grief is ugly and it has the foulest stench that makes my nostrils burn and my eyes water. But it will not take away from the hope I have of an eternity without all the annoyances of this life. My hope is in the victory that Jesus brought to me on the Cross.

2. Jesus gets it, because He knew grief oh so well.

“He was despised and rejected, a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.” Isaiah 53:3 NLT

3.  I am not alone in my grief. My God is with me, near me, comforting me.

“I, yes I, am the One who comforts you.” Isaiah 51:12 NLT

4. Grief has a temporary place.

“For everything there is a season… a time to grieve and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 NLT

5. Grief has many, many purposes. (Lord, please help me not to waste my grief.)

“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.” 1 Corinthians 1:4 NLT

“We were crushed and overwhelmed beyond our ability to endure… as a result, we stopped relying on ourselves and learned to rely only on God. We have placed our confidence in Him, and He will continue to rescue us.” 1 Corinthians 1:8-10 NLT

6. Grief takes time and changes us.

I am sure I could insert some verse here about perseverance and picking up our Cross and such, but I don’t believe that would be beneficial. Trivializing grief, even with a Scriptural reference, is not a road I want to walk down.

Let me put my thoughts plainly. Grief sucks.

But it happens. Or will happen… Grief that is. And it’s more than okay to take the time needed to process through it. Yes, I have learned that I need to be affirmed here, and that it is good to affirm this in others.

7.  Grief cannot be ignored.

Yes. Cannot. Not even should not. Just cannot. I can’t skirt around it and pretend so that it will go away. It has been my experience that becoming too busy so as to (even unintentionally) ignore grief will not only not work, but it can even make the original grief grow into something I didn’t know it already was or could become. I can’t send grief into a corner like an ill-behaving toddler and think I can make it behave and then subsequently disappear (yes, I was that mother known to forget she put her kids in the corner – it was almost a joke at our house). The whole out of sight, out of mind thing doesn’t work for grief. Grief has to be faced or it will find a way to make itself known. Hence the analogy of walking IN to the waves. I am finding that grief likes to tag itself onto things I thought were unrelated. Things like song lyrics, the weather, scents, sounds, life events, holidays, days on the calendar that mean something to only me, a special someone’s favorite foods or color or movie or song, and on and on and on.  

But then, grief shouldn’t be celebrated either. It is something we will each wear for a time, but not something anyone should display with a puffed out chest and forced smile. I just don’t believe (and don’t even bother trying to convince me) it beneficial or even God-honoring to put on a missionary or Christian-ese badge that says “tough it up, this comes with the territory” or “you signed up for this”.  

Gah! There is such a delicate and intimately personal balance when dealing with grief… Which carries me into this last point. The one I have found myself focusing the most of my effort and brain cells on.

8.  Learning what is good grief.  And acknowledging that God is good in my grief.

I am learning to be deliberate with my grief.

“It’s okay to be brave and say that here: The worst grief is a hidden grief that cannot speak. Grief is simply proof that you’re invested in living and loving. Grief is the guaranteed price we pay for love. And in the grief and paying that price, there’s this enfolding comfort --- of knowing we are spending our lives on the best of things.” Ann Voskamp.

I am finding a cautious yet intentional way to celebrate the treasured, that is now lost or different, while allowing myself to coexist in the here and now. And somehow, ever so purposefully, often with only sheer determination, seeking the goodness of God and His promises in the midst of the ugliest and sloppiest bits. Yep. I am learning to walk through my grief. (Though often it mostly still feels like trudging forward into the wild and terrifying waves.) And day-by-day, moment-by-moment, as I lean further and further into Jesus in my grief I am finding myself quite shocked to come alert to (even if it is just flashes of) moments when I see glimmers of… OH (!), good grief.

“He reached down from heaven and rescued me; He drew me out of deep waters.” 2 Samuel 22:17 NLT