Faithful Paradox

We went out to dinner the Friday before Christmas in order to celebrate. My boys had just finished another semester of school. They endured finals and persevered through them. One of my boys made some significant strides in personal discipline and fortitude. It was Advent. Christmas was days away. Despite the sorrow that still walks with me most days during the Christmas season, I desire to celebrate the life my boys are living now even as I still mourn the life that was lost when Ezra went to heaven.

We enjoyed a nice dinner out, grateful for delicious food and a festive atmosphere. We all had our phones put away for the evening so we could simply be present. As we were leaving the restaurant, I quickly checked my phone and saw that I had missed calls and messages from neighbors. There was a structure fire on our property… they were unsure if our house was on fire… someone ran into our house to get the dogs… firefighters were on our roof. It was a moment of terror to end out what we had hoped would be the beginning of a celebratory season.

We rushed home to learn that my husband’s wood working shed at the back of our property line, along with the tools he has accumulated over the last 30 years, all went up in flames. Insurance declared it a total loss. The fire also burned several trees, hundreds of feet of fence between multiple neighbor’s homes, along with various other things. It is still rather overwhelming to consider the scope of loss.

As I think about this event, several thoughts come to mind about loss and suffering.

1. We have a very real enemy

My husband is a pastor by profession and an artist at heart. He has a Masters in Divinity, but his undergraduate degree is in sculpture. Creativity is a lifeline for him.

We have often referred to the shed that burned as his “therapy shed.” After we lost our son to cancer, he spent hundreds of hours learning to lathe and turning wood as he processed through grief and loss. He learned to make beautiful pieces from wood, much of it collected from burned, discarded trees that were scorched in the Colorado wildfires. His tagline has become “turning the dead and discarded into a thing of beauty.” He needed this reminder as he worked through the death of our son; beauty can still come from devastation.

Because of his profession, the week of Christmas is one that is very full. He had three separate services over four days, preaching a total of 5 times. While the loss of this shed is a financial burden and the loss of a healing space, it was also a significant distraction and discouragement during a very packed week. It hit right at his heart.

In all of this, I am reminded that we have a very real enemy who is miserable and wants us to be miserable too. We have a very real enemy who hates God and hates his children. We have a very real enemy who sees our struggle as an opportunity to kick us when we’re down. He will do whatever he can, under the care of God’s loving sovereignty, “to steal, kill and destroy” (John 10:10). We experienced this once again.

2. Knowing what is true doesn’t always lift the sorrow

I woke up Saturday morning feeling grieved and discouraged. If I’m honest, I wanted to feel sorry for myself. Christmas continues to be really difficult to endure as grief seems to come back in a particularly vengeful way over the holidays. It feels that around significant dates, my margin to endure hard things feels smaller than on other days. Upon waking, I wanted very much to sit in self pity. “As if the holidays are not hard enough, and now this?!”

I had to take some time to get my mind in a better space. I fought for thanksgiving all day long… We only lost a shed, not our home. Neighbors cared for us throughout it all. Friends came by and brought us treats and hugs. The firefighters came back to repair the fencing they cut down and put up temporary fencing over the burned portions. We had so many blessings in the midst of it all.

Despite seeing so much good, despite practicing gratitude, my heart still felt deeply sad. I was reminded once again that simply knowing what is true, simply practicing these things, doesn’t magically cause the sorrow to lift. Gratitude is not the off switch for sorrow. As much as I wanted it to be, thanksgiving is not a formula to end grief. While there are studies that show practicing gratitude opens up new pathways in the brain, I don’t think giving thanks was ever intended to numb or erase sorrow. We faced very real loss and it’s painful. While I believe that my fight for thanksgiving was honoring to God and obedient to what Scripture teaches, a right heart posture and a fight for obedience does not cause sorrow to lift… at least not immediately.

3. Those who weep with others are a gift

As the smoke cleared and we could see that only rubble was left, we had many people reach out. I am grateful for those who simply saw and acknowledged the sorrow of the loss. There is so much comfort in those who know and understand what it is to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

A piece of grieving I am still working through in my mind is the command to “give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thes. 5:18). If I’m honest, a piece of struggle for me in many pockets of grief has been those who give thanks about my circumstances when I am not ready to receive it; when my heart is still grieving.

As I woke up Saturday morning, I worked hard to cultivate a heart of gratitude and thankfulness. I spent time thanking God for his goodness and kindness. I found very real things for which to praise him and thank him. Simultaneously, when we heard from others about how this was not a set back but a blessing, or how it was simply a shed and not the house, or how things can be replaced, or how it was an opportunity riddled with potential, it stung. It felt very much like salt being poured in an open wound.

I hope the words were an overflow of the practice of giving thanks in every situation. If I’m honest, what I needed most in that moment was simply for others to grieve with us; not for them to project the hopefulness of renewal that my grieving heart was not yet ready to receive.

I experienced this sting when we lost Ezra as well. Those who simply wept with us left a profound impact. Those who tried to force their gratitude into my broken heart with expressions that felt trite created painful tension for me. “He’s in a better place. I’m so glad it’s over… God has good plans in all of this…” While each of those things were true, my heart was not ready for other’s words of gratitude and praise.

I am still working through this theologically and what our duty as believers is when others face tragedy. What I know from experience is that those who grieve with me when tragedy strikes feel far more compassionate and loving than those who express gratitude when I am not yet ready to hear it. I can’t help but wonder if following Jesus’ example of weeping with those who weep (John 11:35) is the best practice when tragedy is fresh?

4. Jesus meets us in the in-between

I found myself being quite stern with my heart on Saturday. I didn’t want to be grumpy and discouraged. It was just a shed. No one was hurt. It’s not like it was when we lost Ezra. Suck it up, Kirsten, it’s not a big deal. I just wanted to move past the loss and grief and get on with things. The truth is, however, I am not one who responds well to stern rebuke. The more I tried to be stern and turn my grief around, the less joy I felt.

It was not until Sunday morning came, as I sat on the floor of my living room with my coffee under the Christmas lights, that my heart shifted. As I sat quietly in that space, Jesus met me with the compassion that I needed to extend to my own heart.

We faced real loss. It was not simply the tools and the shed, but it was a space that my husband used to work through sadness and grief. The shed represented so much more than a storage cavity for tools. It represented a place of healing; a place of solace and restoration. It was the place where Christ met my husband with compassion time and again and allowed the gift of creativity that he gave him to be the avenue he used to heal his broken heart. Yes, it could have been much worse, but it was a significant loss and worth the time and space to grieve.

I don’t know if this is simply a pattern in America, or if it is a cultural norm in other places, but it seems that we quickly jump to acknowledging that it could have been so much worse, implying that we need to simply thank God for what was not rather than grieving what is. Yet when we quickly move past the grief of what is, I think we miss what God has for us in the very midst of sorrow.

Could it be that gratitude, thankfulness for what was not, was never intended to stand alone? Could it be that gratitude is intended to walk side by side with grief as a companion? It was never intended to trump or cancel grief, but rather it’s intended to befriend grief, to make the loss bearable; to turn our eyes to the Giver of All Good Gifts even as we face the loss of those good gift? Scripture tells us that God is “close to the brokenhearted.” He “saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). We “are blessed when we mourn” (Matthew 5:4). God “comforts us in our affliction” (2 Cor. 1:4). Could it be that we are so quick to try to move past the sorrow that we miss the comfort God has for us in the midst of the loss?

I think it is often in these in-between spaces that Christ meets us. The space where we both practice the discipline of thankfulness, but also allow our hearts to feel the grief of loss. It’s in the silent stillness, the ceasing of striving, the quiet of grieving, that we experience the nearness of God. Much like God visited Elijah, not in the storm or striving, but rather in the still small whisper, I think Christ often meets us in the same way.

5. The enemy doesn’t win

I was at church the Sunday morning after the fire, talking with a friend. I was expressing the sorrow of the lost space, the significant distraction that it was during such a busy week for my husband, the financial burden that we once again face, verbally processing the loss with her. She listened well and then simply said, “Yes, but the enemy doesn’t win.”

We do have a very real enemy. We do face the discouragement of living in a sin-wrecked world where tragedy happens and loss is experienced. We do grieve and mourn and long for things to be made right. It is a very real piece of life.

Yet we also know that truly, “God works all things together for the good of those who love him and have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). We know that Christ “disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame by triumphing over them” (Col 2:15). We know that these losses, while very real, are also “light and momentary afflictions” (2 Cor 4:17). It doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. They are called afflictions after all. But we can be assured they are temporary.

While I don’t know what good God will bring, whether it’s the restoration of the shed and it’s belongings or the good of simply learning contentment in loss, I know he will bring good and in the end, the enemy doesn’t win. The battle is very real, but the victory is more sure. In it all, God will prove once again that he is faithful and will somehow turn this dead and discarded pile of ash into a thing of beauty.