Faithful Paradox

We were traveling on and off over the last couple of weeks and when we got home, one of my sons realized his Airpods could not be located. I opened the “Find My” app on my phone to see where we should start looking and as I scrolled through the app, Ezra’s name popped up with the phrase, “No Location Found.” It actually felt like a gut punch and tears immediately filled my eyes.

Grief is so strange. There are days and weeks where it feels like a quiet background noise. While there are always moments on the horizon that I know will stir pain, these are moments I can anticipate and in some way, prepare for. There are also the thousand little unexpected pains, however, like opening an app on my phone, that something comes out of left field, and takes my breath away.

As I continue down the path of grief, I am realizing these little moments that come unexpectedly will likely be around for the rest of my life. I am grateful that while these moments still arise, they also settle more quickly than they used to. I was tempted to say these moments disappear more quickly or that I move on more quickly, but the reality is these pains do not disappear and I do not move on. Rather, these sorrows settle and I press forward.

I have thought a lot about the concepts of pain disappearing versus pain settling. I have spent a lot of time thinking through the concept of moving on versus pressing forward. For some, it may feel like semantics. For me, it feels imperative to differentiate for the sake of healing and hope.

Part of our time away over the last weeks was spent camping in the mountains. There were hours of unplanned time to enjoy God’s creation. One day as I sat at the campground, I noticed a jar that we brought which was partially filled with water. It also had some dirt in it which had settled to the bottom. The water looked clear, despite the sediment that had settled. I think grief is a lot like that dirt in a jar of water.

Facing significant sorrow or loss feels like a tablespoon of sadness and dirt is poured into the cup of water that is my heart. Once the dirt of sorrow is mixed in, it will never disappear. When we first lost Ezra, the water felt so muddy that I could not even hope that it would one day feel clear again. As I have healed, there are now more days than not where the water feels clear. There are still moments, however, where the contents of the glass are stirred and shaken and the water becomes murky again; moments like opening the app and seeing that Ezra had no location to be found. But murky water is no longer my norm.

With time and healing, the dirt and sediment sink to the bottom of the jar until the contents of the jar seem to be clear once again. There are times when the pain seems to have all but disappeared, but the reality is, it has just settled for the time being until something comes along and once again stirs the contents of my heart. The dirt never disappears from the jar; it just settles in the bottom. Grief feels much like this picture; the pain does not disappear but it does indeed settle.

Beyond the idea of settling versus disappearing, there is also the concept of moving on verses pressing forward. To me, moving on implies something you want to leave in the past. Moving on involves something you’d just assume forget; something that is finished. Moving on suggests something whose impact can and wants to be forgotten. For me, moving on implies forgetting the past and only focusing on the future.

As I think about losing Ezra, I do not actually want to move on. I don’t want to leave his memory and all that he endured in the past. While there are pieces of Ezra’s suffering I’d just as soon forget, I don’t want to leave Ezra’s story in the past. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.

I also don’t want to forget how God caused him to endure and the faithfulness of God in the midst of the pain. As hard as it has been, it has defined a piece of who I am and has written a story that deeply impacts my own journey. I do not want to move on. Instead of moving on, I would rather press forward.

Pressing forward is a path walked with purpose and intentionality rather than leaving behind an unwanted story. It holds space for loss as an honored piece of the journey. It recognizes that the loss incurred has actually created the path now walked.

The idea of pressing forward leads me to think of Paul’s words in Philippians 3:14; “I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” I spent some time studying a bit more about this idea of pressing on and the original language conveys the idea that there is intense effort or earnestness in moving towards a goal. It often involves overcoming obstacles to obtain the ultimate prize of knowing Christ fully. As I think about what it is to navigate loss and grief, having a mindset of pressing forward rather than moving on feels consistent with the image that comes to mind.

When we press forward, we do not leave sorrow in the past, but rather it journeys with us as we continue to step forward in healing and faith. Pressing forward means we choose to remember God’s faithfulness in the midst of loss. It does not discount the loss or pain, nor does it over-spiritualize hope, but rather it fights to see the goodness of God in the midst of sorrow. It learns to hold the tension of a one-day-future hope side-by-side with the present-day ache and sorrow.

Pressing forward implies an intentional and fixed sight on what is to come, not despite the pain, but rather in light of it. Pressing forward means remembering that God does not waste even the smallest pain. When we press forward, we recognize that part of the purpose of loss is to remind us of our future hope. Pressing forward requires a commitment of discipline to endure heartache. It means an acceptance of the fact that loss is actually part of the journey that God has planned for us and somehow, God’s kindness includes times that might humble and test, but his heart is always, “to do you good in the end” (Deut 8:16).

Pressing forward does not ignore the pain but rather it demands the fight to believe that God will bring good, healing, and beauty even if we cannot yet comprehend how that may happen because that is simply who he is and what he has promised. It integrates pain as part of the story, not leaving it behind, but seeing it as a piece of the journey towards Christ. Pressing forward means we walk onward with tear-stained faces and hope-filled hearts.

For me, moving on feels like I must forget my son, if that were even possible. It feels like he was part of my life, our family, our past, and now he’s not, so we move on without him. Moving on negates all that God has done and is doing in light of the story he is writing. It cuts off the memory and tries to begin again anew.

Pressing forward, however, creates space to honor and remember with an active, Spirit-enabled perseverance towards enduring. It involves remembering the goodness of what it was to have Ezra for 18 years, trusting God for the pain that still exists, and hoping for the future of what is to come because of Christ. I press forward and in that pressing, the pain does not disappear, but it does settle even as the forward movement still stirs painful memories and reminds me of what was lost.

As I heal, I am realizing that I will not move on, but I do press forward. It’s an intentional, purposeful, tear-stained path towards healing and deeper trust in God. It’s a heart posture that demands both faith and endurance. It takes time, but it also means there is hope in the midst of pain. Hope and healing do not come once the story is in the past, but rather, they come as I see the hand of God in the midst of the loss; they journey with me as I fix my eyes on Christ and the hope of eternity.