For the One Person Who Reads This and Is Grieving Alone Today…

It is almost summer and the sun is shining. This is not the time to write about grief, but in California the sun is always shining so I have learned to mourn when it is needed not just when the seasons dictate.

I have been carrying these words in my heart for weeks, and today I shyly write them in the dust for one person whose heart just split open – because loss never picks a time you would expect. Or I write them for the one who is carrying quiet years’ old memorials that few speak of anymore. I write for you both and for you all. I write for just one heart that needs to know they aren’t alone.

I’m writing these words because one thing I have found walking through many kinds of loss – babies come and gone too soon, relationships broken, dreams dissapointed, husband sent off to war, moving away from loved ones and places – through all these I have found one unfortunate truth…

We will grieve alone.

Yes casseroles will be brought, cards sent, and prayers said, but there will come a time where you sink into the depths and feel utterly, completely alone.

There are many reasons you will grieve alone…

Your loss is not an understood, accepted, or acknowledged loss. Others won’t call what you’re experiencing grief. Instead they will say you’re going through a “transition” or some other such word that does not give you freedom to simply grieve. They will attribute doing words to the state of being that you are in.

Our world is busy, churches are big, our phones are talking to us of widespread problems, and that makes it hard to notice when individual hearts are breaking. What more can I say? I think it used be different, but how can I be sure? I have only lived in a post-modern age.

You are not something we know what to do with. There is no formula for grief and so it makes people nervous.

Your loss is considered too common, too small, or far too large. We know what to do with grandparents’ passing on, but what of babies that no one knew or tragedy so drastic that to think of it makes us horribly afraid?

Our culture does not teach us of lament. We know how to sign petition lists, raise funds and share inspiring quotes, but we are not practiced in sitting shiva. We do not know how to sit low, we do not slow down and wait for the pain to do its work.

You are a man. And men in our culture are not allowed to grieve. This shouldn’t be, but it is an unspoken expectation so deeply ingrained that even when men think they are grieving they are often holding so much in to “be the strong one.”

We are human. Our emotions and thoughts lie deep within our own hearts, and bridging the gap is so very hard. We are human, and so we let each other down.

We do not know how to sit low. We do not slow down and wait for the pain to do its work, and so collectively we miss the healing.

So what can be done?

Wait in hope.

Wait in hope because there is a second truth I have learned from experience.

Redemption will come.

When you feel alone – wait – press into Christ. Know that He will never leave you even if you are angry with him. Wait and He will send respite and encouragement.

A friend will come who has prayed and wrap their arms around you.

A book will be found that speaks the words your heart needs to hear.

A ray of sunlight will fall on a leaf, a child will laugh, and you will know we are all living and grieving together – we are just not very good at it.

I saw my friend’s new baby this morning. When I am honest with myself, I know I will never see and rejoice in a new little life without feeling the ache of holding my stillborn child. Friend, I know you have these memorials buried deep or newly erected.

But there is a third thing that I can see now that I am not enveloped wholly in grief.

It was a sweet time – the grief. It was the hardest time and the sweetest time all rolled into one.

And there was never a time I was less alone, because Christ bent down to carry me. When I saw him in grief he was ever looking up at me. Him at my feet, reaching up to wipe my tears.

I’m thankful to be able to see the sunlight again, but now that I am busy, moving forward – I miss Him. I miss the way He held me even when I wrestled against his embrace.

“I lay myself across your memory.”

Let’s feel it all friends. Let’s draw near and not be afraid of the joy and pain mixed together. Let’s pray so God can show us just one thing to do for another who is grieving.

And if you feel alone in your loss, if you wonder if your loss is even worthy of being called that, if you can’t express your grief, because you can’t handle one more person telling you to look on the bright side – then I hope these words serve as a memorial.

I lay myself with you across the memory. The memory of every sweet and difficult thing that we must say goodbye to, and I pray for this journey to always lead you home. Always lead you into embrace.

. . .

– the above quote was from the hauntingly beautiful new song Goodbye from my friend’s group Sister Sinjin. I can’t wait to share more about her project with you soon…