Death is unnatural. This was not what God had originally intended for His precious creation. Yet we, in all our humanness, made choices. Thus entered death, what we all try desperately to forget about and avoid. Although I know the hope to which I have found because of my salvation and a promised eternity with Christ, when my dad died, I immediately dug in my heels. The only way I can fully describe this in words is for you to visualize a tug of war. I was on one end, pulling on the rope with all of my might, digging in my heels, resisting with every breath I took. I wasn’t ready to let my dad go; in those first days and weeks, I pulled with everything I had in me, praying to God that I wouldn’t have to go down this path. My resistance was intense. This wasn’t as I had planned.
Yet, before I left home in Colorado, one peaceful evening
(much like the night that he died), I stood there saying goodbye to the
memories, to every tree he had planted that now towered over my head, to the
joy and laughter we shared, to the lake shimmering in the distance, to the spot
in the field where I knelt one last time by his side. I watched the sun setting on the horizon, acutely
aware that this era of my life was setting with it. As I stood there, tears streaming down my
face, comforted by my husband’s gentle but strong arm around me, I looked out
and I prayed. Finally, when I was able,
I lifted up my tightly clenched fists in the air in front of me. I clenched them as tightly together as I
could, allowing myself to feel the pain welling up inside me. Then, as encouraged to do in the past by some
dear sisters in the Lord, I turned my fists over, palms facing up. Slowly, I opened my fists and verbalized to
God my submission to His will. I knew,
but needed to verbalize, my confidence in Him that He would see my family, Dad’s
friends, and me through this journey.
And so began my journey of surrender in yet another area of my life, one
onto which I clung tightly.
Learning to grieve is a journey in and of itself, so I’m
told and have come to see in my prior limited exposure with deep personal
loss. I’ve been riding the waves, and
thankfully, they have continued to get less intense with time. Yet, they still come…I hear they’ll come for
some time and that everyone’s journey is unique. I’ve also attempted to stuff the emotion and
avoid the pain, fearing the ache is too great to go near at times. My wise father-in-law offered some great
insight into this. Instead of being more
like a storm door, halting the emotion, he encouraged me to try being like a
screen door, allowing the pain to come and go.
This seems to work for me as I’m learning to feel it, touch it, and then
move through it, with God’s help.
Over the past few days, I find myself running more, laughing
more, crying less. I anticipated a
marathon race in the grief process, checking off the stages of grief as I
crossed them, seeing the vast, long road ahead of me. But, it seems for me, it’s more like the laps
around the track I used to run. The
stages of grief come and go in my life like the 800 meter race I used to love. I pass through the stages of grief at
different times, just to see myself rounding the track again, going through
some of the same stages I was hoping I had completed. Yet, each time, just like when I would
prepare for my races, I find myself a little stronger in the Lord to face
whatever stage I come upon next. Most
recently, I’ve met an unexpected visitor in my “race” or “journey” or whatever
you might call this road upon which I’ve found myself.
Eucharisteo. For
those of you that have read the book, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp,
you are probably very familiar with this term.
Basically, it’s a willingness to give thanks for whatever God
gives. A cherished friend shared with me
recently a glimpse of this demonstrated in my life. I pointed out to her that it most certainly wasn’t me she was
seeing, but her sharing this with me helped me to see how God was at work in my
life, without my even realizing it, drawing gratitude out of me in the midst of
the pain.
Initially when my dad died, I knew, based on what I know
about God, that one day I would be able to thank God for all that He taught me
through this journey. I anticipated that
day to come once the pain subsided. I’m
beginning to see that the pain is going to be around for quite some time. Yet, I’m coming to learn that joy and hope
can exist in the same breath as pain.
And, as I’m rereading this book alongside a deep look into the book of
Psalms, I’m finding that the joy and hope are found in a place of gratitude to
God in the midst of the pain. I don’t have to wait until the pain subsides.
With diligence and God’s help, I pray
that I can continue to daily choose and work to have a heart of gratitude, in
the big things and the small things of this life. How differently the world looks in light of true
Eucharisteo!
I have a dear BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) friend who is
often heard saying the words, “It is well!”, no matter what it is she is facing
in her life. I’ve always admired that
kind of faith, hope and thankfulness, but I’ve hesitated to say those words at
times in my own life, not sure if I could really mean them. For her, I knew it truly was well and that
she meant every word. I could see it in
everything she said and did. But how
could I have that authentic, “It is well” lifestyle as well? I couldn’t fake it. It needed to be authentic, and I wasn’t sure
I was there.
I’m now coming to see that, “It is well,” doesn’t
necessarily have to mean that it doesn’t hurt.
What it does mean is that whatever may befall, my hope is not
shaken. My peace stands. And, the only way I can truly embrace an authentic
“It is well” attitude is to allow God to open my eyes to see all that He is
doing in the midst of the pain….to allow Him to open my heart, my mind, and my
soul to a place a gratitude, and so I give thanks. And, as I give thanks, I feel the hope and
joy I have in my Savior filling the void I have in my life, spurring me on to
know Him and love Him more and make Him known.
What a gift it is that our pain has a purpose!
When Dad died, I asked the question over the first weeks, “Was
it worth having such a close relationship?”
Basically, “Was the love worth the pain?” I received a beautiful card where a loved one
summed up my feelings. She had written, “With
immense love comes immense pain.” Again
I asked myself, “Was it worth it?” God
brought to mind another scenario of immense love and immense pain—His own love
for us. Having to watch His own Son take
upon himself the punishment we deserve must have caused God pain beyond comprehension. Yet, it was worth it to Him. As Christ was raised again to life, God gave
us the opportunity to have our hopes and lives raised in Him as well. I praise God that it was worth it to Him. And
yes, I’ve come to see, the immense love is well-worth
the immense pain.
It is well…it is well, indeed.
