God often does what we do not ask, in ways we do not want, to make us into what we never thought we could be. And in the end, we will be better, happier, and thankful.
God’s periphery is eternal and purposeful. What He is doing is beyond our scope of vision. Faith trusts this.
My self-pity and anger are broken lament. The path forward must rely on biblical lament. This is true, both in micro moments (a temporary first or an unexpected feeling of my aloneness) and in macro awareness (the permanent reality of widowhood’s experience). So I need to learn to regularly rely on scriptural lament rather than self-pitying complaint. How I lament:
1. Name my disappointments with honesty before the Lord.
2. Do something that reminds me of God’s care for me.
Even what is most wonderful in life comes with agony. Children are conceived in the height of rapturous joy, born in tremendous pain. And grief MUST be the birth-pangs of something wonderful to come, if I will only bear with it.
There are three experiences that must constitute my response to death: Grief, Mourning, and Memorial.
1. Grief just happens. It is the response to any loss. It comes in waves. It is both to be expected around dates and events, and it is unexpected, driven by a feeling. Right now grief is related to my “firsts without her”. Eventually those diminish and the grief waves get smaller.
2. Mourning is intentional. When I see a wave of grief coming my response should be a planned time of mourning. This involves strategically remembering, enlisting good friends or family to help, being aware of dates of remembrance, and owning my response first, rather than just letting it happen out of my control. Biblical lament is often part of that mourning and always a good first tool to use to mourn well.
3. Memorial is the gift that is left from grief. It might be an object of memory. It might be going to a place that was special. It might be journaling about the experience of mourning. It provides a firm “Ebenezer” to reframe grief into a visible reminder of God’s grace and comfort.
Grief itself can become like an idol. It brings no happiness. It demands my attention. It briefly feels good to wallow in the self-pity and play out the false scenarios of being a martyr of grief. In the end though, this takes my eyes off Jesus and must be repented of! I confess this has happened in my heart all too often the last 4 months.
I must die to my grief in a way. Why? Because Jesus is my life, and always has been. I must remember Jesus’ own words: “… unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” Refusing to die to my wants, holding on to the ghost of a person keeps my grief from falling into the earth and dying. No wonder I feel alone. Grief must die, and then it will germinate and grow into fruitful life again.
Death to grief is NOT death to mourning or to memorial. I will mourn Joni, miss Joni, smile at her memory the rest of my life. But I will not celebrate the sadness forever! She is happy now. I can join that joy by looking to Jesus!
God brings resurrection even now. Memories celebrated are a kind of new life. New relationships and friendships resurrect my heart. It is not the same life it was. But it is not shrouded in the worst parts of death.
The ultimate response in grief should be worship. Job tore his clothes AND worshiped. Until I have truly worshiped God in grief, I have made my loss my god.
Here are the things I should NOT do when I am sad:
1. Isolate myself. This is self-destructive and sucks me into a vortex of pain and grief.
2. Drink alcohol. Personally, I have found it easy to avoid this, given my family history, but drinking while sad is more than just the recipe for a country song, it creates a dangerous vortex as well. There have been a couple times I have been tempted to do that. Good friends keep asking me how that is going, and that keeps the cork on the bottle. Literally.
3. Ignore my feelings. A few times I tried to push through, act happy with friends, and probably made them miserable. Instead I should meet with people and I should tell them right up front: I am feeling sad today.
4. Attempt to plan my future. I tried that. It didn’t work. It led to a fatalistic sort of view of my future that was all alone, pathetic, and dripping with ugly self-pity. Sadness will cloud perspective. Instead, list out what I HOPE to eventually plan and decide, and save the decision for a better frame of mind.
And here are a few things I am learning to do in my grief:
1. Journal. Writing has been the most healing part of my current journey. I share it a lot, and for those of you who read it, I hope it is not over sharing. Believe me, I have other writings I will not let you read. My first response when processing negative feelings was to hand write a little journal I call “The Barf Bag”. All the raw feelings are there. I hold it up before God regularly because I know He has read “my little book” even as He is writing my life’s “big book.” I would be embarrassed to share the “Barf Bag” with anyone other than the very closest of companions. Capturing my experience in words clarifies direction. I begin to see God’s hand. I find sovereign patterns. Eventually there is some joy. And by God’s grace, some of these feeble words have encouraged fellow sufferers. Praise!
2. Go out. I force myself out the door nearly every day still. And I just own the fact that I must soldier on. Married friends invite me to dinner. I accept the invitation. I am the third wheel (or the fifth wheel). It is awkward. So what. My life is going to be awkward for a while. I can choose my response to the awkwardness. God, in His wisdom, has made me a widower. It is His purpose for me to show His grace to those who need to see how His grace is there for these seasons. So I go out. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends. Sometimes to make a new friend.
3. Embrace old relationships, create new friendships. I feel like there is this gaping hole in my heart, a Joni-shaped vacuum. Grief, mourning, and memorials help fill the void only partially. Other friendships begin to brick in the gap… person-by-person, conversation-by-conversation, event-by-event small little bricks start to slowly close the gap just a little. New friendships strangely seem to provide bigger bricks to fill in more. I don’t know if the entire hole will ever be fully patched. If it is, it will look like a patch, and not at all like her. And that alone would be special, and lovely. My life is a patchwork quilt of salvaged bits of myself and others anyway. Grace sews them together. Relationships are key to moving forward.
4. Prioritize personal worship. I’ve always made worship of the Lord, time reading, reflecting on scripture, and prayer my start of the first hour or two of every day. It has been even more essential now. And my tear-filled worship is more precious to me than when I was unaware I would lose my wife. I will take the tear-filled worship over dry eyes any day! God is dearer now more than ever. Each tender drop of His care feels like it overflows my cup. Any glimpse of His light as I tunnel through the valley of the shadow of death warms my soul like the noonday sun. If I lost this, I’d lose my life right now. I praise God that He is here. I only wish I had known this kind of grace more with Joni. I know she experiences even more of it than I do right now. I am often comforted knowing that in my tear-filled, honest worship every morning, she is singing right along. Worship brings me close to Jesus, and through a thin veil I almost see us worshiping together. I know that in worship I am closest to what she is doing at this very moment. Worship makes us “ONE” again.
Amen
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