Faithful Paradox

I have always viewed Grief as an unwanted intruder; a strange visitor. I’ve seen him as the most unwanted houseguest that simply shows up unannounced, uninvited, staying as long as he wants. I’ve seen Grief as an obnoxious screamer, demanding time and attention I’d rather not give. I never know how long he intends to stay or when he will leave. And just when I begin to despair that life will ever feel okay, suddenly, one day, he’s departed. Unfortunately, I know he will always come again. He cares not if it’s a season where I don’t really have the time or energy to engage with him. He simply decides when to barge in the door and demand time and attention. I have seen him as the most inconsiderate, unwanted visitor.

As I sit with Grief, I have resented him. He represents all that is lost, all that is not as it should be. Grief reminds me of who is not with me. He reminds me of that family that used to be and is no longer. He reminds me of painful days, unwanted experiences, endless suffering, terrors realized, failed relationships, and innocence lost. Grief tells the story of suffering and despair, of times long before that will never be again. He is the cruelest of story tellers, always reminding me of what is lost.

As I sit with him, however, and hear his stories, as I listen and remember, I realize that Grief has another name, an alter-ego named Gratitude. Gratitude reminds me that the reason Grief barges in is because there was sweetness to be lost. Gratitude reminds me that there were times of delight, of celebration, of joy. Gratitude reminds me that the reason Grief intrudes is because there was once another story.

As I sit with Grief and Gratitude, I realize they are one in the same. Grief is lamenting what is gone; that things are not as they should be. Gratitude is remembering that there were times when things felt right. They are two sides of the same coin; inseparable – the same and yet different.

As I sit with Grief, I realize that he is not as hard and mysterious as I once thought. As I get to know him, begin to understand him, I realize that although he appears an unwanted, unwelcome intruder, he also ushers in his friend Gratitude who brings with him the Comfort of Christ (“Blessed is the one who mourns, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).

Grief softens as you listen to his story, as you hear him out. He tells of sweet times, of days now gone but also warm memories. Grief tells of times that things were not as they ought to be but he also reminds me of how far I am from those moments of pain. If I listen long enough, Grief quietly whispers the Comfort of Christ; a comfort that may not be experienced apart from Grief’s visit.

As I sit with Grief, he reminds me that this life is not all there is; there is hope and there is a future. Grief reminds me that he will only stay for a short while but then one day, he will be gone forever. He reminds me that one day Jesus “will wipe every tear from [my] eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain” (Revelation 21:4). He reminds me that his time visiting, although it feels unwanted, unwelcome and intrusive, is only for a moment. He reminds me that this time of sadness is, “light and momentary” and the longer he visits today, the greater the joy that is to come (2 Cor. 4:17).

As I sit with Grief, he softens. If I listen, he tells a story of hope. He tells a story of love. He reminds me that he will soon be gone; his days, his visits, his time are limited. As I sit with Grief, his counter, Gratitude, begins to yet again warm my heart and I am moved to hope.

As I sit with Grief, I resent him less. As I sit with him, get to know him and understand him, I learn to welcome him bit by bit. I learn that resenting him only causes him to dig in harder and deeper. I learn that trying to lock him in the back room, shove him down, ignore him, quiet him, shut him out only causes him to insist on being heard and he becomes more destructive as he fights to have a voice. Ignoring him accomplishes nothing; it only motivates him to visit more frequently, stay for longer, fight for attention, reveal his presence in other areas. Grief demands attention, refusing to be silenced; obnoxious and loud. But as he receives the time and attention he demands, he also softens. He tells a quieter story. He visits less frequently. His stays are shorter. He is more prone to bring with him Gratitude and The Comfort of Christ.

So as I sit with Grief, rather than resenting him, I listen. I hear the stories he has to tell. I welcome him and sit with him. I know his time for visiting is short, even if it feels long and hard. I know his visiting me is simply an expression of the good I’ve known. He visits to remind me of sweeter times, of loved ones now gone, of days of innocence now things of the past. He visits to remind me to keep looking ahead, hoping and anticipating what will one day be.

As I sit, I hear him say, “Hello, my name is Grief.” And I respond, “Hello Grief, I’m glad you’re here. Remind me of the good things that once were.” And we sit and remember together, inviting Gratitude and Comfort to join us as well.