In my last blog, I noted that Good Grief is intensely personal, appreciates the past and accentuates the future, resists categorization, and focuses on eternity. Today, I would like to separate and expand the second component.
Appreciates the Past
Throughout the Bible, God gives us stories. When properly understood, they reveal a plan for courageously facing the future. By looking at the past, we are able to successfully walk through whatever obstacles, known and unknown, lie ahead. A great example of this is found in ll Chronicles 20. King Jehoshaphat, facing an impossible situation, prayed a short prayer which ended with a declaration of faith: “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you” (vs.12b NIV). God did not abandon him. Instead, a plan for victory was revealed. At first glance, it can best be described as absurd: His army was to march into battle with the singers out front. The end results are amazing: “As they began to sing and praise, the Lord set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir who were invading Judah, and they were defeated” (vs. 22 NIV).
Even now, King Jehoshaphat’s short prayer and declaration of faith reveal a workable pattern for us to follow. Since the fall of 2003, I cannot count how many times I have expressed cries of desperation unto God. The wonderful answers that I have received, and continue to receive, are a testament to the fact that God is still active in the lives of his people. He has not left me to my own devices!
Ten days ago, on the first anniversary of Linda’s death, I carried a beautiful bouquet of flowers to her grave and spent some time reminiscing about the joys as well as sorrows we had experienced during nearly sixty years of marriage. After retiring from the pastorate, before Alzheimer’s rendered her incapable of participating, she and I spent a significant amount of time developing a more intimate relationship with Christ, defining the core values of our lives and prayerfully interceding for our children, grandchildren, and descendants who were yet to be born. She would be thrilled to see how those prayers are being answered.
Accentuates the Future
The picture accompanying today’s blog was taken a couple of weeks ago. Hudson Marshall Collins is our newest great-grandchild. He, along with his four cousins, wonderfully illustrate “descendants who were yet to be born.” They also serve as a constant reminder to me that I must balance the joys and sorrows of the past with the unfolding opportunities that are yet to come. That process can be likened to moving through the seasons of the year. During the coldest days of winter, warmth is but a distant memory and a future hope. The vacillations of springtime remind us of those cold days and promise that warmth is ahead. Finally, in the fulness of summer, the memories of being uncomfortably cold are lessened as we bask in the warmth of the sunshine. Presently, on most days, the promise of the warmth ahead is beginning to be greater than the memories of the coldness of my grief. That said, I continually remind myself that healing is a lifelong process and give myself complete freedom to stumble, fall down, and get back up again – with no guilt or shame!
Recently, Lena Barber, a friend who like me has suffered the loss of a child and a spouse, sent me a poem she had found that sums up the feelings of one who has known the depths of despair and yet chooses to embrace the future:
some days
some days are hard. and when they are, i allow myself to feel whatever it is that my body asks me to feel and i respect the time it needs to fumble and flounder and fall a little. some days i am swallowed whole by things too big for me to hold. and so i set them down. i rest, knowing that even when i cannot slay the beast, i can lay aside my sword for a moment and work on protecting my spirit instead. some days my heart beats like thunder inside of my chest. it is heavy. and loud. and relentless. it does not listen to the part of me that wants to silence the storm. and so i take my eyes off of the noise and fix them on quieter places. on music. and art. and heaven. and trees. and i show myself grace in the dark. even if i am shaking my way through it. because some days i still haven’t caught my breath from yesterday yet.
ullie-kay
Ron Harvard Ministries 