Grief is a funny thing.
Grief likes to hide from me, or I from it. Now that I know that looking grief in the face is what ultimately brings me healing and wholeness, grief seems to slip through my fingers like water. When I remember my story, it’s almost like it has become someone else’s story. But when I search a little bit further, I find that IT WAS MINE, and it sits on my chest like a rock.
That whole process is probably so strange and freakish to you, but until recently, my coping mechanism has been disassociation. So trying to re-associate is just as much work for me as working through the grief.
So I’m fighting for grief.
Because struggle and grief, it’s a beautiful gift. It’s in these moments, these raw moments, that I feel the most able to receive. Receive the healing that my soul so desperately needs, receive love and consolation from people around me, and receive the words that God has for me.
I imagine myself as a clay jar, and when my heart is broken, when the jar is cracked, more light gets in.
God is not a distant idea for me in these times, it’s like He’s right there, sitting on my skin, permeating. My worship is deeper and more meaningful. So when I sing,
“Promise maker, promise keeper
You finish what you begin
Our provision through the desert
You see it through ’til the end
In the silence, in the waiting
Still we can know You are good
All Your plans are for Your glory
Yes, we can know You are good”
It MEANS SOMETHING.
I remember the desert I’m walking through, and my feeble attempt to see the Lord through the mess.
But here is where I stop and remind you:
I’m not suggesting you pick a fight with the devil. And I’m not advising you to invite pain and suffering into your life. And you won’t have to. Adversity is inevitable. I’m simply saying that when the battle begins, you’ve got two options: You can stand there and let the enemy beat you to a bloody pulp, abandon your faith and curse the day you were born or you can seize the opportunity to experience God’s power and goodness in a new way and watch in awe as he fights for you.
I don’t run towards problems because I think there will be more of God there. And I don’t look at problems and say, “look at what God did”. I don’t believe that. But I do believe that God is present WITH ME in the problems, and that He fights for me THROUGH them. And if I allow Him, I can see it. But I have to drop my arms and say, “God, take this! Protect me, defend me, heal me, make Your promises real, don’t stop working”.
One of my favorite writers, Glennon Doyle over at Momastery said, “Life is brutal. But it’s also beautiful. Brutiful, I call it. Life’s brutal and beautiful are woven together so tightly that they can’t be separated. Reject the brutal, reject the beauty. So now I embrace both, and I live well and hard and real.”
Ironically when I try to reject and ignore the brutal, it kind of sticks with me. Sitting on my shoulder; a constant weight that manages to alter my vision. But when I lean into it, I WALK THROUGH IT and see the restoration on the other side.
I will not reject the brutal, because I want to experience the beauty.
So that’s what I’m doing, you guys. I’m walking. And I’m leaning into the grief. However slippery it may be.
P.S. I found this card at Target the other day. Same idea. More glitter.