For in grief nothing "stays put." One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?
But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, "I never realized my loss till this moment"? The same leg is cut off time after time.
C.S Lewis ~ A Grief Observed
I started writing about grief months ago. I was taking my time reading and feeling, remembering and taking in the layers of it. And then out of nowhere I found myself not just learning and remembering, but actually enveloped in it once again. It's as though I've been unintentionally preparing for this. Despite my rigorous training for months, here I am, getting beat up by it.
I suppose, thats grief, isn't it.
There is no good grief. By definition it's roots are in misery.
When the breakers of mourning wash over the soul there is really nothing that can prepare you for the hit. Try as we might. We can be well-versed in the Psalms and Lamentations and all the many scriptures that express and warn about suffering. We can know that we must cling to the life-raft of the gospel. We can anticipate the pain and work spiritual muscles in preparation. Yet even so, the shock, the whiplash, the seering pain and dazed disorientation will inevitably break over us and send us falling. There is no getting around it. This is how it goes. And then after the hit, everything afterwards is different. Forever. As C.S Lewis describes, the waves of grief don't "stay put". Unfortunatly for us, that first blow is just the beggining of griefs cyclical nature.
When we think of grief it mainly musters images of death and funerals - of tears and depressive behaviour mixed with a blend of up and down emotions. These feelings have even been layed out for us like a road map so we can make sure we're on the "right" path. First comes denial, then anger, followed by bargaining, which leads to depression, and then finally we get to the end - acceptance. Which is the place we all desire to get to. Because it implies, grief is now over. But is it really that simple? I think most would say no.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.
C.S Lewis ~ A Grief Observed
Have you ever tried to leave the house and do something normal during a bout of sorrow? How strange it is to see people moving about their day without knowing the hurt going on inside you. The world still spins as usual even though your world seems to have fallen off its axis. The whole experience alters reality.
This form of mental and physical disorientation is not formulaic or linear. We all know this. It's not something that only occures when someone dies and it's not something that finds a neat end in "acceptance". It can and does and will sit with us - forever. God bless Elisabeth Kubler-Ross for creating the now univerally used Five Stages Of Grief, but we must remember that she developed this model to help the people who are facing death. The ones who get a diagnosis that implies death is imminent - this is for their grief. It was never meant to help the sorrows of the people left behind. Knowing this should relieve us from misusing this model in an effort to help people. In fact perhaps we need a whole new paradigm for grief and grief care. Because it's just not so simple to go from one feeling to the next until you accept the loss.
Because, do we ever really accept it?
Some may. But I do believe most don't. And I'm not quite sure we're meant to. We were, after all, made for a garden with no tears and the never-ending presence of our heavenly Father. Accept we ruined that. Leaving many of us to walk around with emotional wounds that have been covered up with tersely expressed bandaids in order to get to a place of acceptance, so that we can finally, just finally, "move on" and "get over it".
I'm getting ahead of myself though, because I think it's best to start with recognising what grief is and how it can be set off. We grieve death, of course. But grief comes with loss. And loss comes in many crestfallen packages. We grieve the loss of relationships or long held life goals, jobs or health, homes or experiences that have come to an end. Grief is an emotion. And at any given moment in a day you may feel it. Yet for some reason, western culture treats grief as though it is something we're supposed to be exposed to for a short season and then carry on. Yet, most of us don't experience it that way at all.
Grief can be intense or it can be gentle. You probably wont grieve the loss of your pet in the same way you grieve the death of a parent or spouse. And the loss of a dream will manifest differently than the loss of a relationship. Grief shows up stronger based on the weight of the loss. But, it's all loss. Even though grief is a normal emotion we treat it like it's something to go through and get passed as quickly as possible. It's something to feel only for awhile until we reach acceptance and move on. We expect it to be temporary, and when it isn't, we think we're doing it wrong .
I do believe we feel that way based on the impatience we feel from those around us. Because grief is uncomfortable. And no one knows how to deal with people in the middle of it. This is why its been religated to hushed spaces like church basements or a therapists office. Even worse we'd probably prefer that people stuff their pain so that it will never be heard of again. I think what this shows us is that we only really care about a person when their pain is already overcome, difficult feelings have been properly processed and life-lessons have been learned. Like Job's friends we can only handle the grief displayed for so long. And we figure if we quickly give all the right answers to a person they'll finally come out of their despair. But it doesn't work that way. We can't solve grief with the perfect mix of words.
It's an ocean. In the beginning there are heavy freezing waves that bewilder the mind. Than the ocean calms and gives off the impression there will be no more billowing ripples. But even when it lies dormant you know the rain will fall again, the waves will be stirred up and the cold will return.
I find it fascinating how quickly we want to jump to the positive when faced with someone experiencing deep sorrow. And although it comes from a loving place, it also comes from our own discomfort. Responding to someones tragedy with promises that something wonderful will come from it, is a way to assuage our own discomfort more than to comfort the person in pain. Because there are no promises implying that's even true. We don't know that someone getting a threatening health diagnosis will result in healing from the Lord and we don't know that someone who was laid off their job will get a better job somewhere else and we don't know if someone's death will result in meaningful growth for the people left behind. We just don't know.
And some things we will never know.
Some things will reak of meaninglessness until we come face to face with our maker one day (Ecclesiates 1:1-11). And until then we'll live wondering why. Why they died, why no justice, why the betrayal, why the diagnosis, why so much hardship, why the finanical burdens. Why?
There are no easy answers. There are few sayings of comfort when the mourner is mourning. We know this, but we cease to practice it. How quickly we turn into Job's friends, desiring to rush the pain along. Explain it away. Get it gone. Because it's taking too long. And because the words of a sufferer can be too negative, not "faithful" enough or seem to question truths easily held by those not in pain - it makes us worry about the faith of the griever. Except it's not our role to correct them in their despair.
Do you think that you can reprove words, when the speech of a despairing man is wind?
~ Job 6:26
Let their words be what they are - anguished expressions sent into the breeze. Don't get hung up on shakey theology, when those sentiments will likely be blown away. It's not the time for correction - it's the time for compassion.
So what should we do with those grieving? Simple - just be there. Just show up and listen to the pain. No matter how uncomfortable it is. Nod. Cry. Sit. Bring a meal. Make a cup of coffee. Sweep the floor. Send a text. Send a card. Send flowers. Care. Recognize that your friends grief won't be this intense forever. But it will forever change them. Sure, they'll laugh again, and certianly they'll get up off the floor eventually. And they'll head back to work and life will carry on. But they will never be the same. None of us will return to being the exact same person we were before the loss. We will feel the missing piece for the rest of our lives. And that pain will inform the way we interact with the world around us forevermore.
The road of sorrow has been well trodden, it is the regular sheep track to heaven, and all the flock of God have had to pass along it. ~ Charles Spurgoen
Yet there are some things we know for sure. Which is that this is the road that takes us to heaven. This is the journey towards faithfully following our Saviour. Because our Saviour is a suffering one. He knows all too well the pains of this life and the sorrow that comes with it. And He is our path forward.
If you are in the midst of grief today, recognize that although your mind and soul may be in the ocean, those depths find rest with the man of sorrows - acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3). This is Jesus. He was rejected and despised. He knew loss (John 11:33-35). He endured physical and mental anguish (Luke 23:26-32, Matt 26:36-46). And he suffered true betrayal, real injustice and death itself on the Cross (Matt 27). He is not a High Priest who doesn't understand our sorrow. Quite the opposite. He's more acquainted with it than we could ever be. And that suffering Saviour sit's with us in the waves with perfect compassion, abounding love and unfaultering grace. Our advocate and friend.
In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
~ Romans 8:37-39.
It is Gods love for us that keeps us. It's His work on the Cross that protects us. We are conquerors only by proxy. These are verses to cling to when the pain gets deep. It will hold us fast. It can secure us under the crashing waves. But that doesn't mean the storm will stop. We must be patient with the grief in our souls and the pain in others.
Unfortuntaly sorrows can't be forced away. As I write now, I wrestle with that reality. Truthfully, I've been attempting to muster myself past the sting. Not surprisingly, it's not working. And yet, I know that "forced away" pain just pop's up in more destructive ways. It shows up as outbursts of anger or unrelenting selfish ambition or numbed out apathy or destructive self-hate. It eats us up in worse ways than if we'd just allowed ourselves the space and time to feel and process the uncomfort of our loss.
The ache of grief is meant to be felt. Even when you think you've moved passed it and it's been several years since the loss, still, out of nowhere the sting will pierce through our busy schedule and cause us to pause and feel it. Yes, it's inconvienient and taxing. But it's worth it. Because what or who we lost is worth it.
The reason we encounter deep grief is because of our capacity for deep love. We don't grieve what we don't love. And that knowledge should give permission to express our mourning with tears and sorrow when that love goes away or changes forever. When we embrace the truth that mourning is an act of love, we allow ourselves to act in that love through grief with less guilt or need to rush it. We live more fully in our call to "do everything with love" (1 Cor 16:14), even our sorrow.
We need patience under pain and hope under depression of spirit...Our God...will either make the burden lighter or the back stronger; he will diminish the need or increase the supply. ~ Charles Spurgeon
There is no good grief. There is just grief placed in the hands of a good God.
There is no shame in your sorrow. Express it, knowing its depths are an expression of love.
There is no need to shove it down. Give it breath and then watch the wind take it.
There is no time like today than to sit with the suffering. Endure the storm at their side.
There is no other Saviour like ours. That in His anguish He called for our forgiveness.
There is no other way through our sorrow, than to hold the man of sorrow's hand.
And there will be an end. A perfect end in Christ. We'll return to the garden, where pain and tears cease to exist. It is one promise that holds true - that in the hereafter...
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" (Rev 21:4).
A note from the writer: This is the second of a three part series I'm doing on a Christian response to the undesirable experiences and feelings that comes with being a human in a broken world. In this series I'll be discussing Anxiety, Grief and Trauma. In no way will these writing's be a scholarly comprehensive work but more of a christian response on some of the hot-button and buzzy topics that are very real to all of us. These writing's endeavour to be devotional and written about from my own experience and through the lense of Scripture. I plan to handle with care. The first part of the series is titled "There Is No Shame In Your Anxiety".
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