Faithful Paradox

I imagine much of it is what is tailor-fed to me thanks to AI, but thinking of Mother’s Day, I had as many notifications and ads for bereaved mothers as I did posts that honored mothers. At church, there is always a prayer thanking God for mothers, but also a prayer for those who grieve on Mother’s Day. There is space for tears and grief for the women for whom Mother’s Day is difficult as well as space for celebration of what is lovely and good. It’s a beautiful picture of honoring what is good and grieving what is lost.

This past Sunday, Father’s Day, was a different experience. I found myself thinking a lot about how the grief process is so incredibly different for each person and specifically for men and women. My husband’s experience was very different on Father’s Day than my own on Mother’s Day. The difference in how emotional pain in men and women is navigated is seen so clearly in the space of grief and loss.

In part, men and women are simply created differently. It’s a beautiful picture of God’s intentional plan. Often, women have been given more nurturing tendencies than men. Often, women connect emotionally and relationally, bringing empathy and emotional support to relationships that is not as common among men. It’s not that men do not posses these qualities, but the different ways God has designed men and women is seen and particularly highlighted in areas of grief and loss.

I know some of my observations are generalizations. I recognize it is not black and white. I understand that some women will grieve quietly with less emotion and some men will grieve more emotively. Regardless of the spectrum, my experience in the space of grief and loss has been that often men are marked by a quiet resilience. They tend to grieve more silently.

I do not know what it is for a father to grieve the loss of a son. I do not understand what it is for my sons to grieve the loss of their brother. I have been a close bystander and as I have watched my husband and sons work through their pain and sorrow in the loss of our eldest son and brother, their grief has been different than my own. At times, in my own confusion or maybe even hubris, I have questioned the depth of their pain because the way in which they have processed has not been what I thought it would or should look like. The reality is, however, they are as much participants in the pain as am I, they simply carry their pain more quietly.

No matter how quietly one carries his grief, the pain still exists. Each memorable date, each holiday that comes, whether Hallmark ordained or otherwise, stands as a reminder that this life is not as it ought to be. Each of these moments stands as a mile marker on the road of grief.

For me, as both a woman and one who has been more emotive in my pain, it is understood, maybe even expected, that I will pause at each mile marker; stop, remember, and grieve. For those who grieve more quietly, it seems that it is more commonly assumed he will just keep moving down the road as the mile marker passes by in his periphery.

For my pastor-husband, Father’s Day was day was full of his regular work on a Sunday. It was mixed with sermon work, caring for others, and then allowing our sons to celebrate him. In the quiet moments, it was also a day that stood as a painful reminder that a son he deeply loved and befriended is gone.

It’s easy to overlook or even forget the ongoing pain of those who quietly endure. It’s easy to assume that all is well. To verbally process the pain that lingers so near the surface requires the right timing and community. I recognize few want to have their pain highlighted or to be pushed into an emotionally vulnerable space. Tension can also arise in not wanting or knowing how to work through the weight of pain.

At the same time, I also recognize that simply because those who quietly grieve process their pain differently than those who are more emotive, it does not minimize or diminish the pain they experience. It is still there. It still impacts their hearts. The loss is still very real, even if it often goes unstated or unnoticed. It does not, however, go unnoticed by God.

I was reading in Genesis this past week and came to the marriage of Isaac and Rebekah. At the very end of chapter 24, it says that, “Isaac brought [Rebekah] into the tent of Sarah his mother and took Rebekah, and she became his wife, and he loved her. So Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death” (Genesis 24:67).

This passage caused me to pause. Up until this point in Scripture, there is no mention of Isaac’s grief over losing his mom. I read about Abraham’s grief but never considered Isaac’s (Gen. 23). Yet here we are given a glimpse of what God saw; Isaac was still grieving. Three years had passed between the death of his mom to the time of his marriage to Rebekah and even then, he had ongoing grief.

I love that Isaac’s grief is named, almost as if in passing. It would be easy to forget his pain. Despite the fact that it had been 3 years, he still ached. Up until this point, there had been no mention of his pain, yet God thought it significant enough to mention it in his word and beyond that, was kind enough to offer comfort.

As I write, my husband, my sons and some of the men in my life who tend to grieve more quietly come to mind. Some of it may be how they are wired, some of it is likely cultural norms and expectations, but regardless of the underlying reasons of why, I can’t help but wonder if Isaac was similar to these quiet grievers? I can’t help but wonder if maybe Isaac had simply carried on, pressed forward, kept moving despite the pain he endured? God found Isaac’s grief significant enough to mention in Scripture, and he finds the pain of those silent grievers just as significant.

God is one who knows. He sees it. He has compassion and care. The mile markers along the road of loss, such as Father’s Day or other days of significance, likely bring up pain that can be easily overlooked, unseen, and hard to process; but it’s not unseen by God. Some may go weeks, months or years with sorrow that lies quietly below the surface, head down, pressing on in life because that is what is expected, required or demanded. Those who know these quiet grievers well still see the sorrow in their eyes, but most will simply assume they are okay. They have been faithful to press on. They have carried their pain, often unnoticed, enduring faithfully.

God is a God whose comfort comes at the right time, even after it seems everyone else assumes you’ve healed or moved forward. He is a God who sees pain and names it in his word, even when no one else seems to recognize it. When loss comes, there can be a settling into sorrow that comes with ongoing grief; an acceptance of what is that comes with loss. I wonder if Isaac had settled in to this space? I don’t imagine he was looking for or expecting to receive comfort. Yet God in his kindness provided comfort that maybe Isaac didn’t even realize he needed. He truly is the “Father of mercies and the God of all comfort” (2 Cor. 1:3).

Everyone’s grief experience is different. Some, like me, are emotive and process verbally. Some shove it down or try to ignore the grief. There are also many who are more silent, yet carry it with such courage. These faithful ones press forward and carry on, even when the pain of the sorrow they hold feels like a heavy burden. These quiet grievers are valiant in faith and deed and I respect them so much. They step forward for the sake of their families, their loved ones, their careers, their livelihood, their calling. They show up, even when it’s exhausting and overwhelming. They do the hard work of fighting for faith, fighting to learn to live again even though their hearts were shattered. These quiet grievers are courageous and strong. They trust the Lord. Even though their grief is often quiet, goes unnamed, unnoticed or overlooked, they are seen by God and at the right time, he will bring comfort.