I have navigated different sorts of grief quite a bit for 28 years old, certainly more times than I would choose for myself. I can’t think of any other way to describe grief, except when you head to the pool on a sunny day only to find a cluster of clouds have danced their way just over the sun. Suddenly, the sky is gray and the water is too cold to enjoy. The best laid plans are foiled, and you’re left only wanting what you had before-- not new plans. But, grief is indeed the great re-arranger of life. My grief now is a thousand times different than it was when my great-grandmother died, or when Paul’s parents died, or when my first dog died, or when I moved across the country away from my family. It’s just different, in the same way the situation and emotions surrounding it are a thousand times different. Somehow I have found myself clouded, nonetheless.
I used to think that people in tragedy knew God most. Like Mother Theresa, enough hardship and grief would make one saintly, living fully in the glory of God. I have, however, found in my experience the opposite to be true. I cling to the verse, “God is near to the broken-hearted,” because time after time in my grief I find that God disappears. He is the sun lost behind the clouds. I tell myself my experience isn’t true, that the Word is true and the faithfulness of God is true and the presence of God is close to me. I remind myself that faith has nothing to do with feelings, and while that is true, it would be nice to feel something.
When Paul’s parents died, as I would lie in bed at night, I felt like my soul was being served to Satan on a platter. I wrote that in my journal. It was ugly, and messy, and instead of the comfort of the Comforter Himself, I felt that Satan was having His way with me. Why does grief do that? Even last night as I read a book about the goodness of God, an evil laughter resonated in my ear, “This is stupid.” Nothing hurts more in my heart than the notion that God actually doesn’t care, and so the enemy makes that his mission. I have had nightmares, some of the worst nights of sleep [or lack of sleep] as the ‘what if’s’ shift and shuffle in my mind.
I say all of this because it’s my experience, but it is not the truth. I woke up this morning dazed by the glow of my phone, desperate for only God Himself. I tried- focused, waited, listened for a word and everything felt forced. I clicked my phone off. I waited.
Nothing.
But, it isn’t the truth. My cloudy experience isn’t the truth. If there is one thing I know to be true, it’s that the sun is always burning bright, and something is going to break through-- whether the clouds have to move, or the entire earth itself, I will see the sun again.
In the beginning I usually drug myself-- with media, or facebook, or bad food. However, the more times I experience grief, ever changing as it is, nothing surprises me about it and that helps me navigate. Maybe I’m in no place to write a blog on connecting with God, but as I sat in my bed this morning I just took a little time to tell myself the truth. Then I thought to myself, “I’m going to be okay.” Now, I know that, and I thought to myself that maybe some reader-of-my-blog doesn’t know that. Maybe you are in grief, feeling suddenly like God has scorned you or left you because of that heavy cloud. You will be yourself, maybe a different version of yourself, but you will begin to feel normal again.
In the meantime,
1) Keep worship going. I listen to worship every day. But in grief, sometimes hooking that speaker up to my phone and putting one song on feels impossible. Not only that, but it occupies my phone so I can’t drown the world out. Still, once I push through and have the melodies pouring into the atmosphere, I feel better.
2) Read truth. I know that reading the Bible feels like an advanced Sudoku puzzle right now. Just open up the Psalms and pick one verse- just one, anything that comforts you. I know that whatever you read will feel like a giant lie. Just take a deep breath and entertain the idea that you are loved by God. You don’t have to write a sermon on it, but reach deep inside of you for that gift of faith and put it to work. You don’t have to understand or feel truth, but you can still believe it.
3) Read/ watch testimonies. This is something I love to do. If you know me, you have probably received videos of testimonies in a message on facebook. I watch them and get excited, and feel like anyone I know should watch them, too. I love hearing what God is doing in other’s lives because it reminds me of His nature, and brings peace to my heart. I get on youtube, and search Heidi Baker, Todd White, Daniel Kolenda, and of course, Bethel.
4) Share someone else’s faith. Yesterday on facebook, someone wrote in a status, “God loves you. Even if you don’t feel it, you are so loved.” It was written by a woman who I know has a deep well with God, and her simple little word touched me. I have been reading encouraging prophetic words about America, and about the end times, and the presidency, and it fills me with hope. I read about people who have been to Heaven and back. Right now, I am reading an incredible book my Shawn Bolz that is reawakening my heart. Faith and hope are intricately connected (Faith is the substance of things hoped for!), so if you want your faith back, you have to hope again.
5) Be vulnerable. When Paul’s parents died, I was still new to Redding. A friend from our hometown called me about 4 weeks later and said she had waited to call until the “dust settled.” Except I was home every day, alone, dying slowly. I really thought I was dying. I burst into tears and told her how I was really doing. She immediately called an older lady she had known in Redding, who called me that same day. I didn’t know her, and she didn’t know me. She asked if she could pray over me. I kept on with my daily chores with the children, and she prayed over me for 15 minutes. Then she came over and folded my laundry. She sat with my kids when Paul was working one night, and I came down with an awful virus. When we had to move two months after Paul’s parents died, I called this lady in desperation. I don’t even know her anymore, but I will never forget her impact on my life in that season. Here in Kerrville, I have a wonderful community of close friends I have called multiple times and processed. It feels so good to process. Just get it out, the good, bad, and ugly. Depression is a stage in grief, but let it be a stage, not an ongoing life experience. Been there, done that.
I hope this helps someone in a cloudy season. Partly I am writing to myself so I can transition out of this funk. There is truly a light at the end of the tunnel, and forgive the cliche, but, it’s the Son. It’s Jesus. He will come through.
