Lost in Losses

As I sat across from this sweet, ninety three year old lady, I couldn't help but lose focus on occasion. We were having a lovely conversation and then it would hit me. There used to be recliner over in that corner. The room looks so sparse. I miss the plants in the window. My mind would wander to the belongings of the previous occupant of this room, my dear friend who had battled cancer for 12 years and took her last breath in this room a mere 10 days previous. I sat there reminded of her while trying to focus on my recently made, friend, Pearl. "You're so strong," Pearl said to me. I replied, "I'm not strong. I am just a bad griever."

It's all locked away, my grief. Why don't I let it out? Why don't I cry, better yet weep? I think there is something to be said for the hired wailers in biblical times. They would wail and weep outside the home of a family who had lost a loved one. It probably helped to trigger weeping in the family and most certainly drown out the family's groanings of grief. I kind of wish I could hire a wailer to stand outside my door, giving me permission to join them, giving me permission to weep for those lost, triggering my own wailing.

As I travel this journey, I do not pretend to know the grief of the loss of a child or a spouse or even a parent. I do not know those losses. I do know the loss of a mother-in-law, brother-in-law, family friend, beloved Granny, and dear friend, all within 18 months. This is what I have determined, we were never meant to physically die. We were never meant to feel the sting of death taking one whom we love out of our lives. God created us in his image. "So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them" (Genesis 1:27). We were meant to live forever - given access to the tree of life. "In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. . . You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die" (Genesis 2:9, 16-17). We were given a garden full of 'yeses' and we chose the one 'no' resulting in physical death entering our world. It was never intended to be so. Thankfully God in his graciousness and love made a way for us to live with him forever through his son, Jesus Christ (John 3:16, 14:6), but it does not remove us from the pain and the grief of living without a loved one until we are reunited. It does not make me miss my loved ones any less. Yes, I have hope in my grief but I grieve none the less.

A friend mine reminded me that even Jesus wept. It is true. In the story of Lazarus (John 11), Jesus wept at the grief he witnessed because his friend, Lazarus, lay dead, sealed in a tomb. He wept even though he knew he would raise Lazarus from the dead. He wept because of his deep love for people and he empathized with their mourning.

I seem lost in my losses. I can't seem to tap into my grief. Maybe Jesus is weeping with me, even for me. May it trigger my own weeping and wailing. May I lean into the pain and the wandering while holding onto Jesus. May I learn to grieve and grieve well.

I do not know if you are grieving a loss today or if you know someone in mourning. This is my hope for anyone experiencing the death of a loved one - may you grieve well, leaning into the pain while holding onto the One weeping with you. For those walking alongside someone who has lost a loved one - may you grieve with them while praying for them and lovingly allowing them to travel their own unique grief journey.

The Jelly Belly Incident

There I was standing in front of a treasure of colors and flavors. The Jelly Belly wall of my local candy store. My eyes danced as I grabbed that little plastic bag adorned with the bright red jelly bean that was the Jelly Belly logo. There were also marks to assist in determining how much you would like to take home - 1/4 pound, 1/2 pound, 1 pound, etc. I told myself, "Self, you are only getting a quarter of a pound." I lied. The flavors seemed to be calling my name, cantaloupe, pink grapefruit, watermelon. . . they are all fruits, right?. . .then there was raspberry jam, root beer, cappuccino. . .the list goes on. I only got a "few" of each. When I was finally able to pull myself out of the Jelly Belly vortex, I discovered my "few" had grown to nearly a pound!

As I walked to my van, I opened my bag of sugary deliciousness with glee. Driving home as I was nibbling on my treasure of flavored jelly beans, I heard scientific data play through my head, "Sugar is as addictive as narcotics. It releases the same chemicals into the brain." Then it hit me like a cold glass of water thrown into my face. I was trying to avoid something. I was trying to find comfort in a bag of jelly beans - tasty jelly beans, my favorite jelly beans, but jelly beans none the less.

I was avoiding grief. In the past few months there has been altogether too much death in my world. First my husband's older brother. Then a family friend. Followed by my dear, sweet Granny. And then a mere 17 days later, my friend who battled cancer for over a decade took her last breath on this earth. Through all of this I have been unable to grieve. There has not been the time. So, instead I turned to what was easy and convenient - sugar. Easy and convenient but not life giving, not healing. If anything damaging to my physical body and mental well being.

So I ask, "Why?" Why sugar? Why not God?

Scripture says in 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ" (NIV).

God is my comfort, not inanimate jelly beans. God is real. God has grieved. God can and will comfort me. 

Grief must be felt. It must be expressed. It must have its way in me - changing me, molding me - hopefully for the better. That part depends on me. What or who I lean into as I grieve determines the level of comfort and healing I receive. Today, I made a poor choice. I chose momentary mood lift. What I want is comfort while in the pit with the assurance that I will see the light of day again. I want the abounding comfort found in Jesus Christ.