A heart full of grief
Fiona Keller • July 19, 2020
Hope in the heartbreak
Sometimes there just don’t seem to be words. Sometimes the heaviness of the heart weighs me down like a millstone around the neck. Sometimes the aching is just so great. Sometimes there is one single thing that my heart is mourning and sometimes it is just in mourning for all that has been lost. The long long list that maybe doesn’t quite end, filled with big things and the not-so-big. Sometimes there is grief that is deeply personal and sometimes it is not. There is danger in the prayer ‘break my heart Lord for what breaks yours.’ Sometimes I fear that if I let my heart feel the depth of sadness that swirls around, it will break into a million pieces, never to put back together again and that the enormity of the feelings will drown me. That the tears, once unleashed, would never stop flowing. Sometimes this grief is there in the midst of suffering and sometimes it flows in when the storm has calmed. Sometimes I think that the grief must end when suddenly another of life’s storms rolls in and the inevitable begins again. Did the last ever really end?
I confess to being in a season of grief right now. Somehow, there is a strange sense of freedom and comfort in simply acknowledging that. In recognizing its presence in my life and in allowing my soul to lament. It doesn’t take away the pain, but it does release me from pretending it’s not there. Sometimes it is at the forefront of my mind and sometimes it slips quietly into the background of life. Yet, it remains. This, I think, is as it should be. I think as these times of grief roll in and out of my life, in their ebb and flow, I am gradually realizing the necessity of letting them be present. My instinctive response is to shut them away. To hide them from myself and from the world around me. And yet, I cannot. They are part of who I am. They are part of why I think the way I do and feel what I feel. The raw wounded grief that gives me my battle cry, those same wounds which fade in time and form scars across my life. No longer searing pain-filled grief, but the occasionally aching kind. The grief that doesn’t leave me, but changes over time: changes me over time.
Grief is not something I ever think we'd really choose. It is a hard road. It can be confusing and unsettling. But this is life and grief is a part of it. It is unavoidable, inescapable, indiscriminate. It does not care whether you dwell with the rich and mighty or with the poorest of the poor. It cares not for the colour of your skin, nor your age or education. Man or woman it doesn't matter. It unites us as people and yet it causes so much hurt, so much anger, so much hatred, so much division.
So, if something so inescapable exists, then how do we grieve well? How do we lament? I think, in many Western cultures, it has become a lost art. The art of grieving well. Of acknowledging that which has been lost and giving our souls permission to feel pain as a result of it. No, we don't like feelings, but without them we cannot heal. Without allowing those feelings space the wounds cannot become scars. Scars may not be pretty, but they tell a story. Stories that encourage others, that strengthen others. God can do something with those scars…. If we'll let him. They become a beautiful part of who we are. They become a story of who He is. And when we can see this, we can find hope.
In the midst of the pain, the hurting, the anger and frustration, the aching, the tears, we can find hope that all is not lost. Because that same God, who showed up and brought healing through the grief the last time will show up again. The same God who was present in the grief of characters of old, will still be present in my grief and your grief. He doesn't barge in uninvited, but He comes when we call. He grieves with us, He leads us through the shadows and back to the light. He mourns with us. He comforts us. He strengthens us when we feel we can't go on. He will never leave or forsake us and that means we never grieve alone. He reminds us that He sees us, that when the world around us moves on, returns to 'normal,' we are not lost, we are not left alone in our pain, we are not forgotten. In giving grief room to exist, we can see beauty grow from the ashes, a building of something new in the destruction. With God nothing goes to waste. All those myriad of feelings that pour out from the umbrella of grief….. Not one of them will return empty, not one fruitless or hopeless, not one that cannot find solace and healing when we welcome Him in to sit with us, when we let God in.
Father, I thank You for these man-made shells, which become our homes as they fill with noise and laughter, silence and tears, memories and hopes. I thank You for their protection, for the safety found within. I thank You for the life that grows surrounded by these walls; a place we make our own. Amen
When complaints often come easier than thanksgiving - I thank you Father for these dishes, which signify food and drink aplenty. I thank You for each mouth that partook of meals together. Amen
Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance. Jude 1:2 Most gracious and loving Heavenly Father, I thank You for You have sustained me through this school year. I thank You for Your provision of strength and energy even on the hardest of days. I thank You for walking with me on the mountain tops: the moments of joy, the times of bonding and fellowship, the times when the learning and the teaching came easily. I thank You for journeying with me through the valleys. On the days I wanted to give up. During times of frustration and grumblings. On the days when learning was hard and teaching even harder. I thank You that I never left the shadow of Your wings and that You have seen me, valued me and noticed me as I have sought to lead and serve my family in this way. Lord, we are nearing the end of this season and oftentimes feel the increasing need for rest, for reprieve and refueling. Some days Lord, it feels like summer will never come. And yet some days time flies and I become aware again of the limited time I have with these dear ones whom I am not only tasked with teaching, but also with parenting and loving. Father, it is my desire to finish well. That we will not succumb to wishing away the time together, nor give in to half-hearted efforts put forth. Help us to find balance between being present in the here and now and thinking ahead to plans for the summer and next school year May You continue to be the source of my daily strength and joy. Remind me of my calling to teach during this season and equip me each day to face challenges with grace, love, humor and humility. Renew my spirit and uplift me as I seek to lead these children towards You, keeping my mind focused and my heart seeking You above all else. In Jesus' name Amen