Grief Is a Beast

This morning one of my absolute best friends called with horrible news. Her mother-in-law died this morning. All of a sudden. All unexpected. All too familiar.

Immediately, I thought of "that" phone call from October: "Emily, the house caught on fire in Van Buren. Mom died." With the next thought, my stomach dropped; I wish the sadness and weirdness of the next days, weeks, months were not a burden for my friend to bear. Friends, grief is not fun.

The only way I've been able to encapsulate the journey of grief is this: Grief is a beast you cannot tame. No matter how you try to avoid it, force it, manipulate it, or beat it, grief will not yield. It will take its course in its intended way. There's no getting out of it.

When my father died in 2009 (from brain cancer), grief caught me by surprise. Never had I been so mentally consumed with something. I thought about my dad all.the.time. If you drank a glass of water, I recalled every memory I had of my father that involved drinking water. If I saw a ball game, a shirt, anything, I somehow thought of some relation to my dad. Exhausting doesn't even begin to explain it. Yet, with my mother, the grieving has been completely different. I'm grumpy on the inside. I feel a bit . . . lost. Wandering through grief, really.

One similarity, though, does exist between mourning my father and my mother: Month three is the worst. Perhaps the shock of it wanes by the third month. Perhaps the realities are settling by then. Perhaps I don't know. And that makes me angry because I want to have "one up" on grief. I want to cheat it somehow, avoid some of it. But alas, that is not possible.

And believe it or not, I'm thankful for that.

While so, so weird and so full of numerous emotion, grief is good. It brings to light the realities of mortality, forcing my mind to consider the eternal, the bigger picture. Grief highlights my hurts and areas where the cobwebs need cleaned. Grief reminds me we were not intended to die and that sin's price is steep--death. Grief reveals my weakness and need for redemption. And as with all--whether the grandeurs of grace or the repercussions of depravity--God uses grief for my good and His glory.

So, I pray tonight for my friend who's just commenced his grieving days--and for you who've been there too--that we grieve well, full and deep, confessing the wounds of our hearts and the wonders of a Savior.