grieving with hope

We jumped in the car to run some errands. He driving, me sitting beside him staring out the window. Silence, so much silence these days. But even in the quiet, we know without doubt, what consumes the other’s mind.  And then he said to me, “Look at that setting sun.  I have never seen a silver lining like that.”

I looked, and it was beautiful. The sun was just touching the horizon, and there was a huge cloud sitting next to it.  There it was, as brilliant and bright as the sun itself, a rim of light around the entire cloud. It was breath taking. However, the only response I could muster, “Do you still believe in silver linings? Is their a silver lining in losing Grant? How could there be? And if there is, will we see it?”

Now I know that “every cloud has a silver lining” is not a Biblical saying. But it resonates the same truth contained in a very well known promise of God, “for those that love god all things work together for good.”  Romans 8:28 is the silver lining of the Bible.

So there it was in the physical realm, staring back at us, that silver lining.  Did we still believe in silver linings in the spiritual realm? I broke the silence and repeated my questions, “So, do you still believe in silver linings?” I waited for the answer.  He simply said, “I don’t know, I just don’t know. I think it’s too soon to answer that question.”

More silence, sitting and staring at that silver lining, and trying to figure out what we believe.  Do all things work together for good? And then it happened, we became acutely aware of a song filling our car with its lyrics.  It was as if the song was speaking directly to our spoken and unspoken questions. We had never heard this song before, although I am sure it is a popular song on the airwaves.  But it was new to us, and it had our attention as we gazed at our silver lining…

But we can stay close to the One who knows                                                                            We can trust our God                                                                                                                     He knows what He’s doing

Though it might hurt now
We won’t be ruined
It might seem there’s an ocean in between
But He’s holding on to you and me
And He’s never gonna leave, no
He is with us, He is with us
Always, always
He is with us, He is with us
Always

We believe there is purpose, there is meaning in everything
We surrender to His leading
He wants nothing more than to have us close

We can trust our God
He knows what He’s doing
Though it might hurt now
We won’t be ruined
It might seem there’s an ocean in between
But He’s holding on to you and me
And He’s never gonna leave, no
He is with us, He is with us
Always, always
He is with us, He is with us
Always

Our faith is sealed, Our hope is real
Come what may, We’re not afraid
Our faith is sealed, Our hope is real
Come what may, We’re not afraid, We’re not afraid

We can trust our God, Always, always
We can trust our God, Always, always

The words of that song penetrated our weary souls as we stared at our silver lining. We can trust God!  He is a God of silver linings, I believe. He is a God who works all things together for good.  I believe it.  I can’t see it yet, but I believe. It is some where on a distant horizon, as our silver lining was that night. And someday, it will burn so brightly, all will see. So I will keep looking and scanning the horizon. It will show itself someday, I believe.

Our Silver Lining from that night (click on picture to enlarge)

As I look back over the last few months, I can hardly believe all that has happened.  Grant has traded Earth, for Heaven, leaving us here to figure out life without him.  A very close immediate family member tried to commit suicide.  Our other son was cut from his beloved football team, and his dreams of playing college ball are growing dim.  Our daughter suffered an injury to her arm and may lose her hard earned position on a volleyball team she has been a part of for 3 years. And a few days ago, there was another death very close and dear to our family.

Each of these events have made me long for Heaven! In fact, I have thought more about Heaven in the last 3 months, than I have the rest of my Christian walk combined.  I find myself thinking about it daily. When sadness comes, I think, “but then there’s Heaven.” When I miss Grant so much, tears sting my eyes, and the heart aches, I find myself saying, “but Heaven’s coming.” In all of the moments that bring pain, or discontentment, hardship, feelings of discouragement or anger, I remind myself, “but then there’s Heaven.”

And what’s to come in Heaven? Besides the fact that it’s eternal paradise with our Savior! In the words of Randy Alcorn, a Biblical scholar who has written volumes on this subject, has this to say. Just a taste of what’s to come…

“No death. No suffering. No funeral homes. No abortion clinics or psychiatric wards or mental illness. No rape, missing children, or drug rehabilitation centers. No bigotry, muggings or killings. No sorrow, or depression, or economic downturns. No wars, no unemployment. No anguish over failure, no more miscommunications. No con men, no locks, no death, no mourning. No pain. No boredom.  No arthritis, no handicaps, no cancer, no taxes, no bills, no computer crashes, no weeds, no bombs, no drunkenness, no traffic jams nor accidents. No septic back ups. No unwanted emails. No life changing phone calls. Close friendships but no cliques. Laughter but no put downs. Intimacy without immorality. No hidden agendas, no back room deals, no betrays. Mealtimes full of stories, laughter, and joy without fear of insensitivity, inappropriate behavior, anger, gossip, lust, jealousy, hurt feelings or anything that eclipses joy! That will be Heaven.”

Thinking about Heaven as much as I do, is by no means a death wish. Quite the opposite. It’s a desire, a craving, an anticipation of real life, eternal life, the life that truly matters. These frequent thoughts of Heaven increase the love I have for my Savior and put this life into perspective. Having a keen, constant awareness that this is not all there is helps me live like I’m on borrowed time, because I am. It causes me to love like there’s no tomorrow, because there might not be. Thinking on Heaven brings comfort, assurance, sustains me and empowers me to live a life for God. And it stirs me to devote my life to things that will matter in Heaven.

Heaven. A place where we will experience the joy of Christ’s presence in a place so wonderful He calls it paradise. That is the promise of Jesus. Count on it and think on it in a way that changes the way you live and love here!

Why do people say that my memories will bring comfort? Right now, they don’t. They bring pain and most often, tears. I suppose I should be grateful for the memories but right now I find myself trying to distract my mind in an attempt to keep memories at bay. They are just too painful. But why? Why don’t they comfort me?

I think it’s because now they are no longer just memories of what we did but also stark reminders that memories are all I have left. Every time a memory comes to mind I am also reminded that there will be no more memories made. So rather than bringing sweet comfort it leaves a bitter after taste. Is that where the term bitter-sweet comes from? Will these memories be bitter-sweet from now on? Will I ever be able to look back on memories of Grant with complete sweetness, void of the after taste? Will they bring warmth and smiles?  Or will they always bring with them a little touch of sadness, bitterness?

I could never have imagined 10 years ago, that the memories we were making with Grant, would someday bring with them a form of suffering.  But they do and that scares me a little bit, because there are so many memories and they are unceasing.  Joni Eareckson Tada says, “ When suffering sandblasts us to the core, the true stuff of which we are made is revealed.  Suffering lobs a hand-grenade into our self-centerdness, blasting our soul bare.”  With soul bared, what will I see?  What am I truly made of?

Os Guiness says this, “Suffering is the most acute trial that faith can face, and the questions it raises, are the sharpest, the most intense, and the most damaging that faith will meet.  Can faith bear the pain and still trust God, suspending judgement and resting in the knowledge that God is there, God is good, and God knows best?” Will my faith withstand the suffering of being flooded daily with memories of Grant, and a soul saturated with the pain those memories bring with them?  What will this trial of faith reveal about who I truly am?

I cannot answer these questions definitively, today.  I will have to look in the rearview mirror, 10 years from now, when these questions, this trial, is in the memory bank. Today, I will think on these words from J.I. Packer, for I believe them to be true, heart soul, and mind.  They help me to grieve with hope… “Your faith will not fail while God sustains it; you are not strong enough to fall away while God is resolved to hold you.” Yes, hold me dear Jesus, and sustain my faith, as the memories come and the suffering they cause reveal who I truly am.

This story is from months ago.  Truth be told, it happened only days after we lost Grant.  But I have not been able to record it here, until now.  This memory, this story, this testimony is precious to me, and to our family.  It is something I will tell my grandkids as evidence of God’s nearness when shock, horror, and disbelief threatened to stop our beating hearts.  I know there will be those that read this and label it coincidence.  But to us, it is a miracle, a gift from God, and an evidence of His love when we thought He’d forgotten us.

We were sitting out back, now 5 where 6 once sat. (plus one…praise the Lord for Mark, our daughter’s precious new husband…grateful beyond words for our plus one!) Dazed and confused, trying to breathe and take it all in, the horror of the last 48 hours.  We sat silent, frozen. My phone buzzed, I look down, and there was a text from Josh, Grant’s room mate and brother in the Lord.  It simply read, “May the Lord bless you, and keep you, And make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

It took my breath away and I immediately called him, without any explanation about what was going on, to my family, as they watched in wonder.  Josh picked up the phone and before he could speak I said, “Josh, why did you send me that verse?”

He could sense I was upset and heard the confusion in my voice so he proceeded with trepidation, “Oh, Alisa, I am so, so sorry if it has upset you or caused you pain. It has brought me such comfort these last couple of days, I wanted to send it to you in hopes that it would comfort you as well.” He then proceeded to tell me a story he had not yet had the courage to tell me.  But he knew now was the time…

“You know that I got to the hospital only minutes after Grant had died,” he said.  “And that Glenn got me permission to go in to see Grant, so I could say good bye.”

I could barely speak, but managed to say, “Yes, sweetie, I know.”

“Well,” he continued, “I kissed him good bye 5 times on the forehead…once for each of you.  I told him how much he was loved and how proud you were to call him son and brother. I cried over him and told him how much he would be missed, and then I hugged him good bye.  I was about to leave the room, when I felt prompted to go back and pray over him. It was so strong I felt like I physically was unable to leave.  I walked back over to Grant, took his hand and prayed what the Lord was putting on my heart, ‘May the Lord bless you, and keep you, And make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.’ I then squeezed his hand, and left the room knowing that would be the last time I saw him this side of Heaven.”

And then he finished with this, “To my knowledge, those were the last earthly words Grant heard. And so I have been thinking about them non-stop. Thinking on them has brought me comfort and I was hoping they would comfort you too.”

But I jumped in, almost before he could finish, “Josh, why that verse? Why did you pray that verse over Grant? Do you know the significance of that verse in our lives?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alisa,” he said bewildered. Poor Josh was probably wishing right about then that he had never written that text or answered the phone with this crazy, frantic lady on the other end. “It’s just the verse the Lord gave me to pray, I knew that beyond any doubt, so I prayed it. Why do you ask?” he said.

I then gave him the back story.  I had prayed that verse over my kids for as many years as I could remember.  Whenever we were going to be separated, I would lay my hands on them, and whisper in their ears, “May the Lord bless you, and keep you, And make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace,” They had heard it hundreds of times.  I can honestly say, I prayed that verse over Grant more than all of the other scripture I had prayed over him, combined! But no one else knew that.  Oh, Grant knew it, and Glenn and our other children. They too had grown up hearing it, having it prayed over them for years; our little way of saying good bye.  I even prayed it over Grant, as an adult, when he would leave for his world travels. And of course, God knew it! Josh was completely unaware; but the Lord knew exactly what He was doing that day, the day Josh held Grant’s hand and prayed that scripture over my son, one last time.

And as I gave Josh the back story we all bawled, we were completely undone. In the midst of the most horrific event of our lives, God was reminding us of His nearness, His love, that He hadn’t forgotten us.  Knowing that, meant there was purpose to this tragedy.  I may never see the purpose or the glory that comes from this, but I know God was there, near to us, and He wanted us to know.

I would find out later, Josh spent the day after Grant’s death, in a recording studio. He sat silently listening to Misha, an amazing young woman of God, a Christian artist, and Josh’s precious girlfriend.  She was scheduled to record a song that day for her newest album and with a flow of non-stop tears streaming down his face, Josh sat listening in wonder.  What was she recording you ask? Do you even have to ask?  It is no surprise to any of us that she was scheduled to record, The Aaronic Benediction that day, which is the verse the Lord had given me for my children when they were babes, and had given Josh, in the hospital, as Grant entered into the gates of Heaven.  This is that song and verse; listen and believe.

You can buy the album “Weight of Glory” by Misha Goetz, on iTunes

I hesitate to post this.  And I wouldn’t if so many of you hadn’t asked. It feels awkward and could appear self serving. But after I posted this “Ten Things Bereaved Parents Wish You Knew” I had so many folks write me and request more on this subject, I decided I would go ahead and post this one as well.

We all struggle. Knowing what to say and what not to say, when someone you love is suffering, is one of the hardest things we do in relationship with others.  We want so badly to say something, anything, to bring comfort, fill the void, make sense of the pain, fix it. So we say something, hope it was the right thing to say, and walk away wondering.

When a friend of mine posted this on her Facebook wall, I knew it was just what you guys were asking for.  It’s not full of Scripture, nor does it hold the same authority.  But it is a very simple, practical, and I think, useful tool to keep in mind when seeking to help a loved one through suffering.  It works in all kinds of crises.  It’s called the ‘Ring Theory.’ The rule is “comfort in, dump out”, but that is explained in detail in the article below.  The original article was posted in the LA Times and was written by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman.  I paraphrased the original article, to shorten it just a bit. It follows below…

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan’s colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn’t feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague’s response? “This isn’t just about you.”

“It’s not?” Susan wondered. “My breast cancer is not about me? It’s about you?”

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors, but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie’s husband, Pat. “I wasn’t prepared for this,” she told him. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”

This woman loves Katie, and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say, and the wrong person to say it to. And it was wrong in the same way Susan’s colleague’s remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. She calls it the Ring Theory.

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. For Katie’s aneurysm, that’s Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie’s aneurysm, that was Katie’s husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can question, cry, complain, whine and moan and say, “Life is unfair” and “Why me?” That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help, bring comfort. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you’re going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn’t, don’t say it. Don’t, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don’t need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, “I’m sorry” or “This must really be hard for you” or “Can I bring you a pot roast?” Don’t say, “You should hear what happened to me” or “Here’s what I would do if I were you.” And don’t say, “This is really bringing me down.”

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie’s friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn’t think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat. She dumped IN.

Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn’t do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to Katie’s principal caregiver may be the best thing you can do for the patient.

Most of us know this. Almost nobody would complain to the patient about how rotten she looks. Almost no one would say that looking at her makes them think of the fragility of life and their own closeness to death. In other words, we know enough not to dump into the center ring. Ring Theory merely expands that intuition and makes it more concrete: Don’t just avoid dumping into the center ring, avoid dumping into any ring smaller than your own.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you’re talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.  And don’t worry. You’ll get your turn in the center ring. You can count on that.

Illustration by Wes Bausmith

I hope you found this helpful.  And for the record, Glenn and I haven’t had anyone “dump in.” Again, that’s not at all why I posted this.  I simply posted this because so many of you had asked for it.  We have actually had very few people “say the wrong thing” to us thru our journey of grief.  And even those few comments were said out of love and a desire to help and bring comfort, and we know that. We are so grateful for all of you…truly more grateful than words can express!

108 days…108 days, three and a half months ago, my life changed forever.  I thought I would be further along by now.  I’m not quite sure why? And what does “further along” even look like?  I’m not sure of that either.

However, I do know what it does look like. I still cry everyday.  Usually, multiple times.  Sometimes it’s bawling and groaning, because there are no words.  Sometimes the sobs catch in my throat and force their way out as silent tears that roll down my cheeks.  And sometimes, there are smiles and moments of peace.  But overall, it’s still hard to breathe, and I fight for joy everyday, as I struggle to live out my new normal. I’m in survival mode, not yet able to see the beauty that can come from such devastation, but holding onto the hope that it is there!

As I was lying on the couch this morning, thinking about these things and wondering if I should be “further along” than I am, I noticed the huge tapestry that hangs over our couch.  I realized from my angle, and because I was so close to it, I couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. I only knew what it was, because I had seen it from a different perspective, and from a distance.  When I was too close to it, all I could see were muted colors and single fragments of thread woven together with no rhyme or reason to them. It was hard to focus, it was blurry, and I could not tell what was happening in the picture. But as I stepped back from the tapestry I could see a chateau here, a tree there, a road in the distance.  If I stepped even further back the entire scene came into view and I could see everything with clarity.  Up close, the tapestry was messy and made no sense. From a distance, I could see the “big picture” and all the artist wanted me to see. I could appreciate it’s beauty from a distance.

Will the tragedy of losing Grant be like that tapestry? Is it still too close to see the goodness and beauty that can come from these ashes? From a distance, months from now, will I be able to see the blessings that come from these dark days, the healing that comes from my tears, the reason for a thousand sleepless nights? From a distance, years from now, will I see God turning evil into good, dark into light, suffering into strong faith, turmoil into peace, weakness into glory, questions into trust?

Taking it even a step further, from Heaven’s perspective, this will look even more different than it does now, than it will months from now, than it will years from now.  From Heaven’s perspective, I believe it will make sense, I believe I will see it as God sees it, and I believe I will see the beauty in the ashes. Here on Earth, on this side of Heaven, I can only see part of the picture.  I cannot see everything God is doing, painting, working together for His purposes. However, from an eternal perspective, I will see the “big picture” and things will come into focus. It’s going to be a very long journey of stepping back, looking back from a distance. A journey that will not end until I get to Heaven.  But I do believe, from Heaven’s vantage point, I will look back from that distance and see the beauty of God’s work…it’s what keeps me going and gets me out of bed everyday!

The other night my 19 year old son and I were struggling.  It comes without warning. You think you’re doing well, and then something reminds you of Grant, and you’re immediately overwhelmed with sadness, grief, longing. We cried, we shared memories, things we missed, moments we wanted to do over, and all of the things that we would never get to do with Grant.   But as I was drying my eyes, and before the conversation turned to lighter discourse, he looked at me and said,  “Yeah, but then there’s Heaven.”

I was so struck by that.  I kept playing it over and over in my mind that night as I lay in bed.  It was so simple and yet at the same time so profound.  Every trial that we face here on Earth can instantly be put into proper perspective in light of that statement.  That in no way means that there is not suffering, and pain.  Losing Grant, has been devastating and the pain has been  absolutely indescribable. But even that, in light of Heaven, an eternity filled with the glory of God, makes everything we suffer here on Earth, a momentary affliction in comparison.

I know that seems hard to believe.  It’s hard for me to believe it, to even write it.  But I think that’s because I really don’t comprehend how amazing, how incredibly glorious, how unimaginably awesome Heaven is going to be.  God knows my suffering.  He has counted every one of my tears, and yours.  He knows every tear that has ever fallen, resulting from every dark, gruesome trial of mankind.  And yet, He inspired Paul, to pen this…

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.

God was well aware of the cosmic grief of all mankind throughout history, when he had Paul put these words to paper.  And yet, if we compare those tears, all of that suffering, all of the countless broken hearts, to Heaven, our earthly trials will pale in comparison to the glory of an eternity with God. So this life will have tears, suffering, sadness, and pain, sometimes in unimaginable measure; “But then there’s Heaven!”

Is Christ my first love? I thought He was. I have proclaimed He was many times. But in light of Grant’s death, I sometimes now wonder?  This loss has made me re-examine my affections.

Philippians 3:8 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.

Do I really count ALL things as loss compared to the surpassing worth of knowing Christ? Is the love for my Savior such a blessing, so surpassing and transcendent that nothing else is worthy to be called good in comparison, with that one highest good, the never-dying soul. The loss of one’s all in this world, is as nothing in comparison; do I really believe that when I am talking about my first born son?

It was easy to love Christ, and consider all other things as rubbish in comparison, when life was good, comfortable, as it “should” be. When I was receiving blessing upon blessing, it was a simple thing to say I loved Jesus most, more than any earthly possession. When my husband was strong and full of faith, it was easy to thank God for that blessing and imagine myself loving Jesus even more than that gift. But now that he is weak, weary to the bone, fighting everyday for joy, faith, and trust in God’s will, it’s much harder to love Jesus most. When all of my precious kids were around me safe and sound here on earth with us, I would proclaim to anyone who would listen, that I loved Jesus more than those gifts….but did I?

Now that God has stripped me of one of my greatest earthly treasures, do I still love Him most, if I ever did? Is Jesus enough in those moments when I feel like my world is falling down around me? Do I love Jesus more than all of the blessings and gifts he has given me? Or did I love Him because of the blessings and gifts? Did I put more value in the gifts than the giver? How will I know?

I must ask myself one more question: Would I take Grant back today, if the cost were walking away from Christ? No. No, I wouldn’t. First of all, I would never ask Grant to leave the Glory of Heaven to make my life here easier. He doesn’t want to come back, leave the presence of God, and eternal joy.  Knowing I wouldn’t call him back even if I could, strengthens my faith and leaves no doubt, I do believe!  But it also tells me, I wouldn’t exchange Grant, for Christ. I know, I cannot live this life without Christ, and the life to come is literally Hell, for those separated from His love and saving grace.  Jesus is not one more thing in my life. He is my life, He gave me life, He gave Grant life, and He purchased eternal life for me, for Grant, and all who believe, with the cost of His own blood and sacrifice!  There is nothing else that I could live for that deserves first place in my heart.

So despite my pain and profound sadness, despite my occasional anger at God, my questions, my daily fight for joy, hope, and trust in my Savior, I can stand here today and say, yes, I love Christ first, I love Him most.

Contentment.  Is it possible for me to be content in this situation?  It seems impossible, but God’s word teaches I can learn to be content in every circumstance.

Philippians 4:11-13  I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.  I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound.  In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through him who strengthens me.  

And Robert D. Jones describes contentment this way.  “It is having a satisfied mind in any situation.  It is finding inner satisfaction in God alone and in His provisions for you.  It is experiencing His peace and confidence in difficult times.  It is consciously enjoying the fact that God is good even when your circumstances are not.”

Is such a mindset really possible?  If so, how can I get it?  I believe it starts with this.  I must realize my contentment does not depend on my circumstances!  My spiritual happiness is not reliant on what is happening in my life.  I am not obligated to respond in a certain way through my suffering. I can choose to trust, even when I do not feel like it. I can find inner satisfaction in my relationship with God even when life here seems to crumble. I can find peace in God and comfort from Him, even when my present is riddled with pain. Contentment and sadness can coexist. Contrary to popular belief, happiness is not a prerequisite for contentedness.

But the above is only possible as I reinterpret trials, suffering, and difficulties.  Contentment must come from my Savior and flow from my heavenly Father, not from my circumstances.  Circumstances can change daily, and emotions can change moment-by-moment right now.  But God’s nearness, love for me, and saving grace never change!  As I look to God and rely on His mighty presence and supernatural strength He will bring contentment regardless of my situation.

I tend to place my hope in things other than God without even realizing it.  But this present season of suffering has stripped me of false securities and I am forced to trust in God alone and find my contentment in Him alone. This present pain teaches me to place my hope on nothing but God and my glorious eternity to come, with Him.

Everything in this life will eventually pass away. That has never been more real to me. So I must be careful not to place my hope for a contented life in anything or anyone other than Christ. I want to be more like Paul of Biblical times, from the verse above.  He allowed the trials and suffering of his life to teach him contentment in every circumstance.

So where does my grief fit into all of this? Can I be content and grieve at the same time? I think I can. As J. I. Packer puts it, “Grief is the human system reacting to pain of loss, and as such it is an inescapable reaction. Our part as Christians is not to forbid grief or to pretend it is not there, but to maintain humility and practice doxology as we live through it.” When we lose a loved one, the shock, the hurt, it’s crushing. We are taunted with memories of better days, and we feel weak, hopeless, powerless. But despite the present pain of my loss, despite my suffering, I can learn to trust God and be content with the life He has chosen for me and the life He chose for Grant. Teach me, Lord, as you taught Paul…I want to learn contentment in all circumstances…

Glenn and I are leaving for a trip tomorrow with friends.  It’s to celebrate the 50th birthday of a dear friend.  It’s tradition, that we all leave town together when someone in the group turns 50.  Someone asked me this morning if I was excited.  And I thought, no, I’m not excited. I don’t get excited anymore.  I just feel dull, regardless of what’s going on around me. I am excited for all of them and I hope it’s an awesome time.  I am grateful for the trip, to a beautiful beach location, and I love being with these folks.  But truth be told, I am more worried about being a downer, than I am excited.

Sometimes, I think that happiness and excitement are over for me.  But then I hear myself laughing, or giggling at something that was said. So I guess that’s not it, happiness isn’t over. Perhaps, happiness and excitement are no longer  prevailing emotions, the foundation and tone of my existence as they once were.  I used to be the first to laugh, and the last to stop. I used to get excited about the littlest things. I could laugh at anything and everything, and find joy anywhere. But I am changed. It seems now, sorrow is my corner stone, my foundation, my starting point. I am heart ache wearing a smile. Yes, I am changed.

So far from the social butterfly I once was, it feels like a life time ago…I guess it actually is.  My mother-in-law used to tease me and say I should put a revolving door on the front of our house, because of all of the folks coming and going. When the kids were little I used to limit myself to a certain amount of phone time each day, so I wouldn’t spend all day talking on the phone with friends.  But now, now it’s all different.  Now, I am quiet for long periods of time. I don’t feel like talking much.  I only talk on the phone occasionally, and for short periods of time.  I carry profound sadness with me everywhere I go, like a backpack. You might not see it at first, but ask me to turn around, or watch me walk away, and you will see it. It’s always there. And tears are always right underneath the surface just waiting to break thru. Yes, the sadness, the missing him, has changed me.

The books say that in time, I will find happiness again.  The grief won’t be as heavy and I will wake with a smile and joy in my heart.  I don’t know when this will happen, and some days it seems like an impossibility, because I know, I am changed, forever.

Even when I am my “old self” again, I will always be a different person.  There will always be a ‘before’ and ‘after’ version of Alisa. Some things may remain as they once were, but there are other things about me that have forever changed.  I think it would be impossible to walk thru something like this and not be changed in some ways.  It changes your view of God, your view on eternity, your view on priorities, your view on life here as we know it.  It changes the way you read scripture and sing worship. It changes the way you pray and talk with God.

I hope that the ‘after’ Alisa will be better for having walked through this valley.  I pray Grant’s death is not in vain; on the other side of the valley, I hope that I have a greater love for my Savior, a greater affection for Heaven, and an unwavering trust in God, regardless of circumstances. I pray this strips me of self-reliance, clarifies my vision and helps me to prioritize my life in a God glorifying way.  I pray that my faith is stronger, and that I will be able to comfort others who are asked to walk a similar path. I pray I have a greater passion for the things that matter, and that the trivial pursuits of this life will lose there appeal.

But I know there will be other changes as well.  Changes I don’t want, changes that are not welcome. Changes, that will need to be changed, brought to my attention by loved ones, changes for worse, not better.  Meditating on all of the changes now, and changes to come, in me, in Glenn, in our other children, can be unnerving. It threatens to bring fear and disquiet my soul. But it doesn’t have to be this way.  God’s Word can dispel my fears, if I let it.

Hebrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

God never changes. He is unchangeable. He is the same yesterday and today, forever. He hasn’t changed, through this suffering. There is such comfort in that. I have no idea what changes are waiting for me as I walk through this valley.  I have no idea how many times my life, and the circumstances surrounding it, may change before I die.  I have no idea what changes await my precious husband and surviving children, because of our great loss.  But I do know, God will never change, His infinite wisdom has not changed, His love for us has not wavered.  His desire to be near us, and comfort us, will never change. Christ’s plan for my life, as his follower, is to present me to the Father, holy and blameless and above reproach.  Not because I am; I am far from blameless. But because he has earned for me, by His sacrifice, that blameless standing.  He has reconciled me to himself and that will never change!

Life here on Earth changes daily, sometimes moment by moment, and sometimes in an instant, and we change with it. But I need not fear those changes, because my God never changes! I can confidently seek refuge in His unchangeable nature and remember He is still on the throne, today, tomorrow, and forever!