Small Signs of Advent - Morning Stillness

Why is the morning so still?
Why is the time between darkness and dawn so very quiet?
The night voices begin to quiet themselves and the morning voices, like me, are hesitant to start moving. Stillness.  I open my eyes and leave the warm space to listen and wait. As the first rays of light peek through the trees, the morning noises, one by one, come to life. Another day. Another new morning reminds me of the words from Isaiah, "Morning by morning He wakens - wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught."( Isaiah 50:4)

I have learned the quiet before dawn is what rescues me from the perils of the day. The stillness and quiet waiting are when I hear the voice of God, assuring me that the One who brings his first rays of light to creation is also bringing me a ray of light, a ray of hope, a ray of guidance.  It is the example Jesus gave to his disciples where, "In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went to a deserted place, and there he prayed. (Mark 1:35.) The Christ child teaches us.

I cannot help but wonder about those who miss the quiet before the dawn. Admittedly, sometimes I am one of those, but choosing to miss the lonely, quiet place of silence is dangerous. Henri Nouwen, in his book Out of Solitude says: "Somewhere we know that without a lonely place our lives are in danger. Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, without distance closeness cannot cure. Somewhere we know that without a lonely place our actions quickly become empty gestures."

Where is the place of "somewhere?" The answer lies in my Advent reading for today.

"God wants to open the heart before it opens itself to the world; before the ear hears the innumerable voices of the day, the early hours are the time to hear the voice of the Creator and Redeemer. God made the stillness of the early morning for himself." (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is In the Manger)

Open my heart, God, to your day and let me always show up as you wait for me in the stillness of the early morning.

Small Signs of Advent - Weeping for Newtown

The headlines tear to shreds my peaceful Advent journey.

 

Small, innocent children and teachers are senselessly murdered in our country. 

 

God, where were you at Sandy Hook Elementary School? God, you whose eyes are on the sparrow, who sees and knows everything, where were you when the tormented young man left his home where he killed is mother and then entered the school and opened fire on innocent victims?

It is unthinkable and my heart bleeds with the brokenhearted families who are reeling in pain and and whose lives will never be the same. I look for the "small sign" and can't seem to find it through my weeping.Maybe that is the small sign.

I return to the writing of Ann Weems who gives voice to anguish.

"Anger and alleluias careen around within me, sometimes colliding. 

Lamenting and laughter sit side by side in a heart that yearns for the peace that passes understanding. Those who believe in the midst of their weeping will know where I stand.

In the quiet times this image comes to me: Jesus weeping.

Jesus wept,

and in his weeping,

he joined himself forever

to those who mourn.

He stands now throughout all time,

this Jesus weeping

with his arms about the weeping ones:

'Blessed are those who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.'

He stands with the mourners,

for his name is God-with-us.

Jesus wept.

'Blessed are those who weep, for they shall be comforted.' Someday. Someday God will wipe the tears from their eyes.

In the godforsaken, obscene quicksand of life,

there is a deafening alleluia

rising from the souls

of those who weep,

and of those who weep with those who weep.

If you watch, you will see

the hand of God

putting the stars back in their skies

one by one."(Psalms of Lament)

Holy Infant Jesus, your tears are joined to mine. I hear the alleluias.

Death - a Gift of Grace To Those Who Believe in God

Today I share a quote from a friend who had been doing some reading of her own. She ran across this passage written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer and sent it to me, remembering a loss we share. I now share it with you.

In a sermon Bonhoeffer preached while a pastor in London, he said:

"No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward joyfully to being released from bodily existence.

Whether we are young or old makes no difference. What are twenty or thirty or fifty years in the sight of God? And which of us knows how near he or she may already be to the goal? That life only really begins when it ends here on earth, that all that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up- that is for young and old alike to think about. Why are we so afraid when we think about death?...Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God's Word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentile; it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace. 

How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world?

Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death."

I wonder if those of use who are grieving can reflect on this and think of death as a gift of grace God has given our loved ones.

Today I want to share this from Joni Eareckson Tada in her book Pearls of Great Price:

Your eyes are too pure to look on evil; you cannot tolerate wrong...

Habakkuk 1:13

God permits all sorts of awful things to happen... things He doesn't approve of. God allows others to do what He would never do. At the same time, He hates evil. Please don't think that God sits back and nods appreciatively at the peddling of drugs to ninth graders. He's not the one who fired the ovens of Auschwitz and other Nazi death camps. He does not smile when doctors slip up leaving children with crippling defects, or high school linebackers crush the neck of the opposing team's quarterback. He hates these things.

God is truly grieved over evil. He is grieved at how we've ruined the world and abused each other. This grief is partly why He gave the Ten Commandments: don't murder, He says -- I hate unjust killing. Don't commit adultery -- I despise seeing families ripped apart. Don't steal -- society will crumble if you do. God cannot tolerate wrong...

This is why He sent Jesus to be born into our dark world. From the day of His birth, the forces of darkness began plotting against the Babe in the manger. Why? Because the adversary and his wicked hoards knew that this was the Child who would ultimately crush Satan and bring an end to wickedness in this world. God is so grieved over evil, that He sent His only Son to die in order that righteousness and peace, truth and love would prevail... in order that we might escape the clutches of hell and be welcomed into heaven. God permits what He hates to accomplish that which He loves.

                                             

Celebrate the defeat of darkness by singing this verse today from the Christmas carol, "Joy to the World": No more let sin or sorrow reign, nor thorns infest the ground; He comes to make His blessings known far as the curse is found!

God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day: to save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray, O tidings of comfort and joy!

www.joniandfriends.org

Small Signs of God in Advent #10 - On The Bridge Between The Sacred and The Secular

Pont Sant Angelo, Rome

Yes, this blog is about grief. But Advent asks us to consider the Christ Child.

Millions of people celebrate the Christmas season, but not all of them are Christians. They shop and decorate. They attend the politically correct "Holiday" Party and participate in the music of the season. Some will say they are Christian, but just have trouble with a virgin birth and a resurrection - the two, really big mysteries. They say they believe in God and sometimes they go to church. They think there might be something after death - possibly a Heaven, but surely not a place called Hell. How could a loving God send someone to Hell? That's not very Christmas-y.

And then Advent comes and asks us to look again at the message proclaimed. The time is here when prophets warn, stars move in the sky  and angels proclaim. Those who are unsure in their faith find themselves in another Christmas quandary. They find themselves on the bridge between the sacred and the secular and the choice becomes one of confusion and distraction. Back and forth they go - we go. The immediate often reigns over the important. Sometimes it is the good over the best.

I heard a speaker who made a strong point about this division. She said there are two voices inside of us. Deep inside each of us there is God's Spirit calling. Outside, there is the world calling - usually pulling in the opposite direction. Somehow those voices gear up for our attention during the time of Advent. The world pulls us to material pleasures and God's Spirit pulls to one, holy silent night. It becomes a battle and Advent can leave us feeling sad and depressed.

The conversation between Charlie and Lucy in the movie A Charlie Brown Christmas explains our frustrations:

Charlie Brown: I just don't understand Christmas, I guess. I like getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I'm still not happy. I always end up feeling depressed."

Lucy: "Charlie Brown, you're the only person I know who can take a wonderful season like Christmas and turn it into a problem."

Christmas is not the problem. Christmas is the solution. Christmas is the voice that calls to us throughout the year. Maybe it's because during this beautiful season for celebrating, we find ourselves still on that bridge of indecisiveness, still wondering, still watching for some small sign of God.

God whose infant cries call me to your holy night,

                                Guide my steps to your sacred manger,

                                                                     For You are the solution.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16    

Small Signs of God - Day 9 "The Part I Will Play This Christmas"

 Even on the grief journey, we must walk through the days of Christmas. Yes, they are hard. Sometimes we just want it to be January and all behind us. But go with me as we journey through Advent. I will be reposting some essays written last year. Maybe through the season, we can find ourselves healing a bit, day by day. Go with me.

When I was in 2nd grade, I was chosen to play the part of Mary in the Nativity Play. It was not because I was a budding actress, but simply because I was very tall like David Herrington who played the part of Joseph and the audience could see us better from a distance. I remember being excited that I got to bring my favorite doll to wrap and hold while the story unfolded on stage. I also liked the pale blue gown and the way the scarf draped over my head and fell in folds to the floor. I had to hold my head very still though for fear of it falling off. I hope you're smiling just picturing this event.  Most of us have acted out the scene at some point in our lives. My youngest daughter was a sheep one year and the way her ears flopped when she baa-ed made my sides burst when I REALLY wasn't supposed to be laughing. Oh, and one year six children in our home donned bathrobes  and acted out the scene to four proud parents. That one got a little out of hand when the two shepherds got in a fight with their broom-staffs.

Today I am asking myself: what part do I play in the Nativity? If I am the angels, well, then, I am already in Heaven and have the privilege of telling others not to worry. I can fly around and sing joyfully. If I am Joseph, I am dazed and confused, thinking about the newly defined family I have been asked to support and must find a hotel quickly because a baby is about to be born that is not even mine. If I am Mary, I am tired and weary, bearing the weight of the world, facing an uncertain future. If I am the innkeeper, I am busy making money and  knowing these people from Nazareth can't pay, should send them on their way - or on second thought,  offer them the shed. If I am the shepherds, I am looking for a little action - something in the sky is different and tending sheep can be such a drag. If I am the Wise Men, well, I will come later, but I do see something happening different in the  stars and I start shopping. If I am the animals, I can sense that something is different and I simply stand very still.

You see: all of creation plays a part in this mystery and wonder of the birth of Jesus. No one is exempt from the reality of the divine child in the stable. All Christian theology has its origin in the wonder of that night - when God became flesh. It is how we "play our part" in the story.  And in the end, scripture plainly tells us that every knee shall bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord of all. (Romans 14:11)

God who becomes flesh among us,

              I want to be the angel, glorifying you

                                     or the lowly donkey, simply standing very still,

                   but you have made me the human with a mind of my own to choose my part;

                                 Give me the wisdom of the wise men to search for you with every breath I take.

                                                                                                                                Amen

Strength is Found in the Quiet

Grieving during the Christmas season is hard. My pain is magnified. It seems everywhere I turn, there are joyful people singing, or shopping, or baking, or celebrating. They are rushing to the gathering of friends or family. The pace is quickened, traffic is gnarled, and I become in a frantic state of "rush" to try to keep up with the world.

But I can't.

In reality, this is just the opposite of what we should be doing - especially when we are grieving. You see, we grievers need all the strength we can muster. We are exhausted from the pain of our sorrow. It is often hard to put one foot in front of the other. But we know we must. And so we try. But true healing comes for a griever when we allow our self the quiet. Strength is found in the quiet.
As Streams in the Desert says, "For a lake to reflect the heavens on its surface, it must be calm."

And so where do I find "calm" during the season of hustling and bustling?
 - early morning walks in my garden
 - a church sanctuary in the middle of the week
 - a star-filled sky
 -  Ave Maria sung by Jewell or Josh Groban
 - a fireside chat  with a friend over a late afternoon cup of coffee
 - an Advent daily devotional
 - Christmas stories reread from years ago
 - Stratford Hall Ginger Cookies - mixed and rolled in sugar
 - a heart that can weep and smile and remember
 - watching for someone who needs a dollar handed to them
 - kind, thought-out  words
 - Jesus, who set the example of "going up on a mountainside by himself (Matthew 14:23)

It takes work to find the calm. Sometimes we too must, go up a mountain all alone.
There we find it.

Will Today Bring a New Song?

"I waited patiently

 for the Lord

and he heard my cry...

He put a new song in my mouth." 

Psalm 40:1-3

Waiting is hard. My tears are real and they hurt. Sometimes I feel as if no one is listening. I feel all alone in my grief. Like the old spiritual that wails, "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows my sorrow," I, too, wail as I wait. It does not feel good, but it is all I know to do on many days as I grieve.. and as I wait.

Wait for what? Wait for my situation to be reversed? Wait for explanation to the unexplainable? Wait for resolution? Restoration? Healing?

Maybe the key is in how we wait...

The psalmist waited patiently. Ah, patience.  A word that is more and more foreign to our self-reliant and self-confident nature.

Patience comes from the Latin word for suffering. Waiting is often referred to as long-suffering. Grievers can breathe a sigh of relief because that word explains the empty abandonment a griever can feel.

But maybe the other key is the One on whom we wait...

The psalmist waited "patiently for the Lord."

And what did the Lord do? He heard my cry! Did you hear that? The Lord heard my cry and then he "put a new song in my mouth."

Why does the Lord do that? Because we have placed our will under the will of God.We have turned to God and trusted Him with our grief. We have become less and allowed God to be more. We have learned to say like someone else said, "Not my will, but Thy will be done."

And then one by one, little melodic notes of a new song begin to chime in our hearts.

(adapted from Waiting on God by Andrew Murray, Day 14)

Deciding Who We Will Be This Thanksgiving

I start thinking about Thanksgiving on the first day of November. Who will be at my table and what delicious foods will be served.

But yesterday was All Saints Sunday. We remembered those we love who have left this life in the past year.  Their names were called as a candle was lit and the bell tolled. We remembered all of those people who have gone on in the past, giving thanks for their lives and their impact on our lives of faith. It is a day of remembrance. It is a day of hope. We face the future without them, but look to the day when we will see them again.

Being part of a service like this is reminder of our statement of faith. And a statement of faith is important to someone going through this process of grief. Because grief twists us and turns us in directions that make us writhe in pain, make us wonder, make us uncertain of who we are.

And we falter and become uncertain of what we truly believe.

And somewhere in our twisted, painful grief, we decide down in our soul who we will be.

And the heightened emotions around the holidays make it all more intense.

I think we have four choices:

We will hold fast to our faith and dig deeper to know God better. We experience a peaceful sort of joy in our sorrow. It is through our trust in Jesus Christ that the Holy Spirit can minister to us and help us through the difficulty of grief.

We will walk away from our faith, blaming God for not healing or protecting our loved one. We become cynical,bitter, and angry. But God never gives up trying to get our attention.

We will experience faith in Christ for the very first time. We start to grow in trust and love.Our priorities change and God begins to reveal himself to us more and more. We have found something to cling to that is real and eternal. We have hope.

We will decide to not decide, but stay on the fence, retreat and wonder, living an undecided life. We have heard the Good News of Christ, but just can't quite believe that Jesus died for us and has provided a way where death is not our final destiny.

Right now is a good time to decide who you will be in your grief. In  a few weeks, we will be sharing the Thanksgiving table with those we still have with us. Who will you be at that table? Will love and peace abound along with platters of food? Will gratitude be abundant?

It's your grief. You choose.

At A Loss For Words...

My friend told me she drove down my street, wanting to knock on my door to ask, "What do I do? What do I say to my friend who just lost her child?" She thought I would have some words, some advise to move her to action in a way that expressed her heartfelt grief. Because I had lost a child, she thought I would have lots of suggestions.

I hugged her and thanked her and confessed that I, too, am at a loss. My mind registers the knowledge, but my heart is presently breaking and simply cannot process this loss. Death shocks and we have a tendency to run away - escape our emotions, looking for air to breathe.

We search for the words or deeds that say, "I am sorry for your loss. I love you. If I could take away the pain, I would. I know I can't do that, but I offer this - my time, my casserole, my words of comfort, my willingness to run errands, clean the house, empty the dishwasher, bathe the dog, care for other family members, provide bedrooms for out of town guests, sort the mail, answer the telephone, make phonecalls, pray, refresh the plants, fill the birdfeeders, and all the while, feeling so utterly helpless." Why? Because death strikes a mighty blow and we temporarily lose our confidence.

When we lose our confidence, Jesus steps in to show us his own personal example of going to the bereaved. Jesus shows us how to grieve. Jesus shows us how to look beyond death. In the gospel of John, we are told a moving story about Mary and Martha who sent word to their dear friend, Jesus, that their brother Lazarus was sick. Jesus did not go to them immediately, but simply told those with him that the sickness would not end in death. And then Lazarus died. And after a very long four days, Jesus wept with Mary and Martha at the tomb. Then he had a poignant conversation with them. In John 11, Jesus reminded the sisters,"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die." Then to prove his point of their conversation, Jesus first prayed, thanking God for the opportunity to show those observing that He truly was sent from God. Then, He did it. Jesus raised Lazarus from death to life. In front of their very eyes. And from his example, He is still teaching us today:

1. Go to the person who is grieving.

2. Weep with them.

3. Be the hands and feet of Jesus through compassionate care.

4. Pray, thanking God for the opportunity to share the Good News with others.

5. Rest in the words of Jesus who said, "I am the resurrection. Believe in me and live forever."
Since I believe all of the Bible is true, I am able to regain my confidence in these passages when I face the reality of death. And somehow, all the words and deeds done, carried out in love, become the hands and feet of Jesus, transformed into a beautiful thing called grace. Can we follow His lead?

Angels Watching Over Me

I was a creature of habit. After my daughter died, I would sit in my bedroom, facing the wall without Megan or her hospital bed. I would gaze at the collection of art still hanging above the place where she rested with us for 16 months. It somehow comforted me - those words: "He is making all things new," "God cares for you," and "For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all ways." I would probably cry some, and work hard to help my heart believe that the journey was now over. My loved one was no longer present. I would now have to look for the "new" God was making in me. I would have to trust in His care and believe that angels were guarding me. Could I trust like that?

It is a choice we must make when we are the one left behind. We cannot help but feel empty and alone. We cannot help but feel lost. That is normal and part of a process we do not want to face. Those first few weeks become a blur of trying to simply put one foot in front of another. We find ourselves spending much of our time alone with our grief. This is healthy for only we can experience this initial pain and shock of death. No one can do it for us. And postponing facing our grief by staying too busy will only prolong the healing.

But Faith is waiting to help us in our grief. I call it "God's Support Group of One." God does care for us. God is making all things new. God does command angels to guard us in our ways. Just sitting in God's presence alone is a great healer. The words of even the most well-meaning loved ones must wait for God himself to begin the healing in our souls.

In time - and you will know when the time is right - support groups offer further healing. It is helpful to find people who have had similar experiences and know how this grief truly feels. You probably won't want to go at first, but after the initial step, you discover the benefits. All wounded from some loss. All vulnerable to revisiting their pain. And yet, all discovering that as they revisit, remember and share their sorrow, healing begins its process.

Maybe one of the excellent online support groups listed below will help you on your journey. Begin with the personal faith and knowledge that God loves you. Then reach out and take someone's hand.

Open to Hope
Bereaved Parents USA
The Compassionate Friends
GriefShare

The Pounce of Grief

I love to watch my neighbor's cat guard the activity along a stone wall in my garden. He lounges in the sunshine, but don't think for a minute he isn't watching and waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting chipmunk or swat at a loitering butterfly. He creeps through the shrubs, making no noise, then in the blink of an eye he vanishes as quietly and quickly as he came.

In grief language, we call this being "ambushed." Grief, the internal experience of great loss, often lounges in our souls, quietly waits to make a move.  We will be going through our day - or moving through the years - thinking we are making progress. Grief pounces on our heart and we are overcome with a profound sense of loss.

Sometimes it happens when we cross an anniversary of our loved one. Sometimes it happens when we hear a certain song or see someone with similar features. Sometimes it happens when we participate in events for others like marriages and new babies and remember that we won't be having that experience. And many times, it just happens. Period.

The good news for grievers is like the prowling cat, profound grief doesn't hang around forever, but weaves itself in and out of our lives, never fully going away. Sometimes it's tangled and messy. Sometimes it lingers around looking for a vulnerable heart. That's okay. A vulnerable heart means it is beating to the tune of love and life. A vulnerable heart has loved greatly. A vulnerable heart can be compassionate to others. And then healing comes. Healing comes when the broken heart can take new steps to live without the one who was loved. Taking those new steps means we are moving.

Moving with hope. Moving with trust that we will find our way. Oh, God, show us the way.

An Offering of Grace

 "The tears...streamed down, 

and I let them flow as freely as they would, 

making of them a pillow for my heart...on them it rested."

Augustine

Confessions 1X,12

 The funeral is over. The relatives are gone.The flowers have been given away in small bunches. The remnants of cakes and casseroles are all that remain. There are piles of cards and letters...some are opened, some are waiting. You open your eyes and everything looks different. The world is a new color of gray and nothing feels right. And then you remember - it all comes flooding over you.

You try to remember what day it is. Everything seems too quiet. There is a hush in your home and in your heart.  You look outside and even the birds are silent on this day. But there is something inside of you that wants to hear the birds sing. There is something inside of you that strains to hear the faintest chirp. Anything that would bring you back to the way it was...before. When life was normal.

A few days after my daughter's service, I stood at the coffeepot next to my husband and waited for the coffee to brew. We stood there, watching the drip of the morning elixer and he whispered, "Would you like to go to the recycling center with me today?" I knew then we would survive. And I laughed that the mere thought of some task so utilitarian could be such an offering of grace.

It is the offering of grace we mourners so desire. It is the offering of grace that reaches down into our soul, soothes us, calms us with the simple tasks of daily life. I suppose they are different for each grief-stricken heart. But when hearts are linked together, the offering and the acceptance are always compatible. You know what I need. You offer. I accept:

                                      a visit on the front steps,
                                                        watching a child learn to ride a bicycle.
   
                                a hand-picked bouquet from your garden,
                                                      delivered hand-to-hand, eye-to-eye

                                             a linen handkerchief

                                                                    a note in the mailbox

Maybe your heart is linked to someone today who needs a simple offering of grace. Look around you. What will your offering be for the one whose heart is resting on a pillow of tears?

                                 



                     

How To Plan A Funeral

 Three days after the death of my daughter, we met at church for a memorial service for the one we loved. Many people came, friends and loved ones spoke and sang at the service. The choir sang and we tried to sing. Afterward, we gathered for a reception and greeted those who wished to stand in a long line. There was a beautiful display of food and flowers and pictures. It was a hard day, but a special day. A day of remembrance and worship and love.

Three days is not a very long time in which to put together a service for someone you love. You might have gotten sudden news and had to plan a service in total shock. You might not even remember it. That is normal but not at all fair. Death is never fair. I had to wait for the funeral to come to me. You see, I knew my daughter was dying. In fact, I planned her service at Christmas. Then it lingered toward Easter. And as summer blended into fall, it really happened.

I was still in shock. Death brings shock whenever it comes. We are never fully prepared. And we cannot think clearly. To this day, I cannot remember calling my family and best friends. But I can vividly remember stacks of paper plates and plastic cups appearing in my kitchen.I remember the bird feeder always being full. I remember everyone talking softly when all I wanted to do was scream.

My church was instrumental in leading us through those days. The church is a place where the needs of the heart are met. When my family could barely breathe, the church stepped in to plan, finalize, prepare, and serve us with love and compassion.

My friend in Colorado found herself planning a funeral unexpectedly. Afterward, she published a little book that everyone should have on the shelf, ready for that unexpected moment.

How to Plan a Funeral &Other Things You Need to Know When a Loved One Dies by Liz Cowen Furman

Beacon Hill Press
Buy the Book

 

Today is a New Day

"When I consider your heavens,

the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars,

which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him,

the son of man that you care for him?"

Psalm 8

 

 Today, September 12th, is the anniversary of my daughter's death. That was four years ago. This morning as we looked up at a beautiful sky, I asked my husband if it seemed short or long. He said it seemed short and long for him. I said it seemed very long to me. And that's grief for you. Just as different for each person as the changing patterns of the morning sky. Heavy and gray one minute, light and hope-filled the next.

You might be fresh in your grief today. Or maybe you are futher along this road.You might be sitting, stunned and immobile with the reality of death. That is where you are and that is where you must be. Let it be. Give yourself permission to just be. Silence is a good thing. Look at the sky who silently takes you to a place of majesty and  mystery beyond yourself. Creation consoles your heart and quietly speaks comfort to your spirit.

In this past summer's issue of Bereaved Parents of the USA (www.bereavedparentsusa.org), the editor shared one model describing this journey of grief:

Year 1 - The year of firsts: birthdays, holidays, anniversaries. It's new and awful, but most agree the dreading of those days are worse than the actual day. Hard to fathom, but true.
Year 2 - Universally agreed, probably the hardest year. We discover that now we know just how empty and sad life has become. Most of the support we had is gone - we feel abandoned and alone.
Year 3 - A year of irrational anger. We find ourselves constantly angry over insignificant issues. We must remind ourselves this part of the journey is complicated and are assured by those who have traveled the road that this year will come to an end.
Year 4 - A breakout year with mixed results. We think we are ready to move forward and to others we seem "normal" but we wrestle with giving up grief (after all, it's been our constant companion). As much as we want to fully participate, something deep is holding us back.
Year 5 - A year of engagement. At last, we are able to "re-enter" life in earnest. We have moved through our grief and recognize we will always wear the scar of loss, but we discover we can experience joy and live again.

Know today that the God of creation reaches down in love and cares for every grieving soul. You are never alone. Scripture tells us that Jesus wept over Lazarus, he wept over Jerusalem, and he wept at the foot of his own cross. He has been there and he knows about our sorrow . Look up today and see the majesty of His love.

Who will Go with Me?

It was four years ago tomorrow, September 12, 2008, my oldest daughter died from a rare, neurological disease. I thought I was moving through my grief at a modest pace--knowing that it is different for every person. I had lots of time to be alone, to write, to talk it through with family and friends. I thought maybe...just maybe I was coming through the darkness.

But as spring turned to summer, I sensed a dread in my soul. I had no energy and needed more sleep. I didn't want to be with my dearest friends. Crying came easily and often. As the pattern continued, I wondered if I was relapsing into some depression...or even worse, wondered if I had ever gone through what I was supposed to have gone through four years ago.

 I will tell you I made it through that darkness, but I know I am on a grief journey that will probably last as long as I live. I plan to move along, finding my way, getting lost and then found again - over and over. But I know I must go deeper now, learning more about grief and why we are so different in this process of suffering. I must learn how some people go on a fast journey and others never begin their healing. I want to heal.

So how is it for you? Obviously, you are visiting this grief site because you  are grieving or you know someone who is grieving.  Isn't that all of us? Maybe you just need a grief friend. I can be that for you. We can "talk grief." If you have lost a person you loved, we speak the same language.

I invite you to come on this journey with me. Don't be afraid. I will share my story of loss, hope, and faith, revisiting that first year after my loss. I hope it will help you.Together we will heal. Together we will be stronger.