Faithful Paradox

My boys went back to school last week. This time of year always brings a range of emotions. On the one hand, there is thankfulness for the fun, the rest, the work, the friends, and the family time we had over the summer. While the necessary toil of homework and 6:00 AM wake-ups that comes with school feel tedious, we were all ready for a bit more routine and structure.

At the same time, for me, back to school comes with a deep ache. This was Ezra’s favorite time of year. He loved everything about it; the excitement of a new season, soccer, school supply shopping, the extravert’s dream of 8 hours a day with friends. He loved back to school almost as much as he loved Christmas.

The ache that comes with this season has caused me to pause and think about how grief has changed over the last three years. The end of September brings with it the close of the third year since losing Ezra. As I look over the past three years, I can see how the sharp edges of grief, the pain so deep that I felt I could hardly breathe, have softened and eased. The constant, suffocating sorrow has lifted. It’s not that the sorrow is gone, it’s just that it simply does not demand as much time and energy as it once did.

The grief has become a companion that walks with me now rather than a disorienting shadow that constantly overwhelms me. While the loss once felt like the entire story of my life, I can now see more clearly that it is a piece of a story; a thread that is being woven into the tapestry of my life by the skillful hand of the Master Tailor.

Where the routines of life once felt impossibly hard to perform, there are now the daily rhythms of life that feel manageable in the moment; almost normal. It is when moments like back to school come, times when loss seems to echo loudly, that sorrow sings her mournful melody; a song that reminds me of the deep ache that still remains. Sorrow’s song, however, does not incapacitate me as it once did. Two years ago, a day like back to school would have left me undone for the remainder of the day. Two years ago, as the calendar rolled from August to September, the anticipation of the end of the month felt overwhelming.

Today, I still have a deep sadness that walks with me, but what stands out is that I am still walking. The sorrow once felt like a heavy, wet, immobilizing weight. It left me sitting, unmotivated, unmoving. Today, tears still fall easily, but they also dry up more quickly. Today, I sit with my sorrow for a bit and I allow the ache to weep and cry with me. Then I dry my tears and move forward in the day.

While it’s encouraging to see how the grief has changed, the truth is, the rest of my day I went through the motions of life, doing what I needed, pressing forward. There was a dulness to it all. While I see that perseverance has grown and endurance has matured, as I think of year three, much of it could be described as simply going through the motions of life.

Year one was marked by overwhelming sadness; pain so deep I was not sure how I would survive. Year two was marked by enduring sorrow and an unrelenting ache; learning to step forward in faithfulness, even if it was walking with a limp. Year three has been marked by going through the motions of living. It’s not as hard as it once was, yet it still requires more stamina, more intentionality than it once did.

There are many times in this third year that my heart has felt flat and uninterested. There have been many times that engaging the people I love has felt like an act of discipline; one I want to do, but at the same time, a discipline that requires more energy and intentionality than it used to. This week, as I prepared to receive my boys back from school with a smile on my face, eager to hear about their days, I engaged them with a smile that likely didn’t reach my eyes. I love them so much and want so badly for them to know that their lives, their joys, are worth my time, energy and delight. They are worth all the fight to endure the sorrow, and yet deep inside, I know the remaining grief also meant I was going through the motions of engaging, of mothering, of caring even when my heart felt flat.

I’m grateful to see how grief has changed. I’m grateful that it’s not quite as hard to carry, quite so all encompassing as it once was. I’m grateful to be able to see the perseverance God has given. I’m thankful to see how God has caused me to endure. Perseverance and endurance do not mean that the pain is gone or that it is less weighty to carry. I think it means that I can now see that God has helped me step forward in faithfulness, despite the pain that still exists; pain that I thought would once crush me.

I’m hopeful as we close out year three and step into year four that the Lord will continue to bring healing. I’m hopeful that year four will feel less like going through the motions of living and maybe small pockets of delight will begin to return. I’m hopeful that the memories that still stir so much pain will begin to soften and bring with them a tender nostalgia more than the sting of loss.

Regardless of what this next year brings, I am confident that God will be at work, continuing to weave this painful thread into the tapestry of my life. The more the picture is seen, the less stark the thread of sorrow will appear. I am confident that he will cause me to endure, even if the grief does not transform as I am hoping. I am sure I will see his goodness and on this, I can set my hope.