Grief – Women of Purpose

It’s a beautiful thing when joy comes.

The day my sister flew to Washington state to join my kitchen table because she knew my heart was in shreds—that day she spoke six words which honestly are the only words I remember of her entire visit.

“You won’t always feel this way.”

Like a small ray of possibility, yet illusive and out of reach, the words burned into my soul because I felt no hope.

I’d spent hours walking the trails close to my house, asking (more like begging) God to save my marriage. I started an altar of rocks where I was going to place one stone on top of the other each time God answered a prayer.

Then, one day it came to me, almost as if God was audibly speaking, this strong awareness that the answer was no. My husband was going to walk away. I don’t know why God let me know that—perhaps to prepare me in a small way for what even local law enforcement called a “glamour TV show”.

I was the main character in a very slow motion show that was difficult to wrap my head around even as I lived it.

Everything blurs when life becomes one long painful thing to navigate, yet there’s this hope of possibility because you know the will of God. I knew I was praying according to God’s will, which means God should say yes, right? Doesn’t He promise a yes when we pray according to His will?

“And this is the confidence that we have before Him: that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.” (1 John 5:14-15, ESV)

“Whatever you ask in My name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” (John 14:13, ESV)

How do I reconcile those verses when I knew I was praying according to the will of God, yet my husband chose other women?

How do I reconcile the Father’s love for me when I felt no love as my husband spent years asking about having an open marriage?

How do I find joy when clouds were full of rain and grief was so intense that even noise became silent?

How do I find rest when my heart pounds in a desperate effort to silence the truth with denial and reasoning circles in my brain?

Therapy could help me, but only God could heal me. And I had to surrender.

Surrender isn’t a popular word in today’s society where each man and woman fights for their own happiness. Submission isn’t popular either. But the only way through loss, whether by death or divorce, is surrender to the unthinkable.

A christian therapist will help you surrender to God by walking you through that hour in the office with Jesus as the answer. He may give you tools to utilize, boundaries to implement, and a solid choice to walk away from an unfaithful spouse. But every tool he or she gives you must lead you closer, closer, and closer to God rather than away from Him.

Talking it out helps; turning to God heals.

Boundaries can take away abuse, yet leave you alone without healing until you bring Jesus into the grief with you.

Walking away can free you, yet leave you desolate unless God is the most intimate Being you know.

And I’m here to say that no human being can heal you or replace what you lost.

Surrender means letting go of what was.

I packed up my kids, put them on a plane, and moved to the opposite coast.

A teen aged girl had my bedroom and my husband.

The girl’s mother had my first office, the room straight off the sun room where I got to write and store my books.

And the wrap around porch overlooking snow peaked mountains was now walked on by people I never wanted to see again.

I said goodbye to my friends, some of the best I’d ever made. And in a new kind of southern culture I floundered and struggled to make the same kind of friends as a grieving single mom with four struggling children.

For years, I spent hours in therapy sessions. Some of the kindest, older, wiser believers were also trained and equipped with tools to lead me closer to healing—and they always led me to God.

The tools given me were for one purpose only—to see the heart of God toward me and to move away from evil.

God wasn’t saying no to His will for my marriage. Rather, He wasn’t forcing Himself onto another party who wasn’t choosing Him. Because we can pray according to the will of God, but another party refuse to say yes to the will of God.

In all my questions, I had to see God. What I see changes when I see God.

And in some odd way, through years of wrestling and working and raising my beautiful children, joy came and I saw God’s hand on my life. I learned to look, pause, turn aside to see the hand of God that would otherwise go unnoticed.

Christian therapy helped me see God better, more, deeper. I remember the chair where I prayed aloud to bring Jesus into the grief, led by another to see Him beside me. The years of pain that were finally acknowledged by a human allowed me to see even deeper that God acknowledged them also, and He was angry, too.

Exodus 3 says that “When the Lord saw that (Moses) had gone over to look, God called to him within the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!’

And Moses said, ‘Here I am.’

‘Do not come any closer,’ God said. ‘Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.’” (verses 4-5, ESV)

When we turn aside to notice what God is doing in our loss, He speaks. And in that moment, whatever we’ve been through, God’s words to us are sacred and we are standing on holy ground.

Surrender of the very things I wanted most led me to an act of worship in my spirit that was so meaningful and deep I began to realize the gift of the presence of God was far greater than an easier life.

Take the tools therapy gives you and use them to help your body, soul, and spirit lean into rest. Believe that the promises of God are always yes, though perhaps a no in the way you wanted. He truly does restore your soul, though perhaps not your circumstance. He will lavish you with His goodness in your inner being until you laugh again and realize your weeping is somehow far less and perhaps, even over.

You may spend years processing and growing, but the time will come when, rather than join another grief course or therapy session, you will want to dance. Joy is a fruit of the spirit, and the promise of God for joy is always a resounding yes because heaven isn’t weeping.

Heaven is singing. And God resides within you as the angels hover over you, bringing heaven to earth in a way that even angels long to look into.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

Love always,

Sara D.

It was seven years ago, but doesn’t seem so long ago that I got the call from my sister asking if I had heard about our brother.

I knew instinctively that he had died, and it was my first experience with numbing grief. I’d never before gone basically immobile where all I could do was cry. And in the days that followed, my usually active self could barely move to serve those around me who were also grieving.

I learned a lot in those days.

We flew to Honduras to try to find his body in the beautiful lake he had disappeared into, and on the third day, as professional divers, friends, and family called it quits one more time, his body suddenly floated up to the surface right beside the boat.

The sight of my brother’s body on news headlines, being drug out of the water, was almost too much for me. We buried him on a dark mountainside in Honduras, our questions unanswered. All we knew was that he was a good swimmer, yet went under quickly.

No struggle, no resurfacing. And because we were in another country, the autopsy we desperately wanted didn’t happen.

Our questions remain unanswered. Now, when others are wrecked with grief we try to remember all we learned in those days, try to reach out to others in ways that will help them rather than hurt them even more.

Lake of my brother’s moments into heaven.

A few weeks ago one of my dearest friends lost her husband. The grief was great, even for me, and I felt I needed to be there. But I remembered—did she need me now, or later? Sure enough, she told me she had lots of people at the moment and would need me in a few weeks more than now. Loving my friend best meant waiting rather than rushing into crisis.

When my cousin Susanna Kauffman died a few weeks ago, I wanted others NOT to do or say some things that had happened to us. I wanted to spare the family from questions asked at the wrong times, from news links broad casted across social media before they could even process what was happening, and from well meaning people hurting rather than helping them.

None of us always know what to do or say to someone in crisis. Do we speak or stay silent? Do we go or stay?

But as I walked personal grief and watched family members process in their own ways, I learned some things on what to do or not do. And I’d love to develop a community of well-taught believers who walk grief with others in a healing way.

1. Be okay with unanswered questions.

A funeral, memorial service, or even the days prior and after are not the days to ask a crisis family all the questions on your mind. Don’t ask numerous questions of how they died, why they died, exactly what happened, etc. Reality is not always sinking in for the family and there is plenty of time for questions to be answered in the future.

2. Be okay with just showing up.

I just walked into a room to see one of my best friends weeping, bill in her hand for $38,000 (Her husband had just lost his job along with the accompanying insurance, and his life flight alone was this much). She was playing worship music as she wept, telling me that it’s all paid for. Not by the Go Fund Me page where almost that exact amount was given, but by another source. I wrapped her up and wept with her.

Showing up can be in person or with your pocket book. Many people show up with words, yet those in crisis often need tangible presence or help more than verbal help.

You don’t have to know what to say. Most of the time you don’t need to say anything. Just show up. Just be there. Just do the thing without much ado, and make sure they are covered.

3. Don’t overwhelm weary minds with your own crisis stories.

That is not the best way to “be relatable” at a funeral. I remember standing before a long line of well-wishers, listening to someone else tell us of their own death story. We were too exhausted to stand there, much less listen to stories of another crisis. If you come to a memorial, keep your words calm, sympathetic, and short. Presence is better than speech.

4. Don’t crowd into their home after the funeral.

The family will be exhausted. They won’t need to sit for hours, answering questions and processing for or with you at that time. DO visit them in the following weeks and months as reality settles in.

5. Notice what they need, emotionally or physically.

People in crisis often find it hard to eat and even harder to cook. Take them baskets of ready made food and leave it sitting on the counter with flowers. You can come and go in a few minutes, leaving a note or a hug.

If you see a sink full of dishes, perhaps wash them quickly if the time seems right. Keep your eyes peeled for what might mean most to them.

People process differently. My friend needs quality time and someone to just sit on her couch and process with her. One of her daughters is the same, and joins us there. Her other daughter needs to move and talk, stay busy, and keep up with school work. Reality may hit her a few months down the road.

There is no right or wrong way to process grief. Don’t try to force your own way of healing onto someone else, but rather take note of each person’s make-up and go out of your way to accommodate their way of grieving. If someone needs to talk or do something, go with that flow and take them out for an activity. If they need to sit and cry, make sure your presence is there—really there.

6. Remember to mention the passed loved one in the coming months and years.

People often don’t mention someone who passed away because they don’t want to stir unnecessary grief. But the family is mourning whether or not their loved one is mentioned. A smile with a story of what you loved about the person will soothe their hearts a little. This opens the door for them to talk, process, and share about their loved one if they want to. They will probably pull out photos to share, and will love any detail you have of a pleasant memory.

It is very difficult to live a new reality. When others never mention a loved one, it can feel like you’re in your world alone.

7. Make sure all their physical needs are met.

If you see a need somewhere, just fill it. No need to ask a ton of questions. The less they have to think about and take care of, the better. They may not have the energy to thank you then, but you will be remembered as someone who truly helped. Stay tuned in for a long time, remember that months later can be more difficult than the immediate shock. Pray, stop by, and help financially or in any other way you notice they need help.

8. Don’t quote Bible verses to try to “get them out of grief”.

Be okay with grief. Cry with them. Never quote a verse about joy or say things like “Your loved one is better off with Jesus” or “You’ll see him again some day” or “Things will get better.”

Jesus stood weeping with Martha and Mary before he called Lazarus from the tomb. Even in His Godhead, where He stood ready to do the miraculous, He first made time for mourning. He didn’t have to, but He chose to.

Remember that many deaths are traumatic. Not only is a family grieving loss, often they are also trying not to remember how someone died. Pray healing over their minds—and as one friend put it to me a few weeks ago, pray that they would process what God wants them to process, and leave the rest to Him. There is grief, and there is excessive, destructive grief. Pray that they would grieve with Jesus so despair would not get in.

Let’s choose to love in ways people need us to love them. This is all about them, not about us. In this way, the God of HOPE will come into our atmospheres and change the way we sit with others in their grief.

Love to all,

Sara

“Bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ.” Galatians 6:2, ESV