grieving with hope

People keep saying that I am strong. I have heard several comments like the following, “I don’t know how you do it. You’re just so strong.” But I need people to understand the exact opposite is true. I am weak! I am not strong enough for this. I can barely carry on at times. I cry everyday…usually more than once.  I barely sleep.  Food still tastes like chalk. There has never been less strength in this body and soul. I have never been more weak. And there are days I literally struggle to even do just the next thing. No, I am not strong.  But I don’t have to be. Christ’s strength is made perfect in my weakness.

2nd Corinthians 2:9 And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” 

Any strength that people see in me is just evidence of my utter weakness. I have never been more dependent on you God for everything. Every breath I take, every heart beat, every smile, every moment of comfort. He sustains my faith, because I can’t. He gives me moments of peace, in the midst of my tortured mind.  It’s His grace that gives me hope, when I am desparing. I have nothing in me, that He has not provided.

No, I am not strong, quite the opposite. But Christ is strong in my place. His grace is sufficient, it’s a promise I stand on, and his strength is filling every weak and cracking fissure of my soul as mortar fills the cracks on a brick wall to strengthen it, build it up, and hold it together.  It’s God’s strength they see, and it is there precisely because I am so weak and utterly dependent.

Also, I believe people think they see strength in me, because I am not trying to carry a burden I know I cannot bear.  I can’t bear it, even if I wanted to. I would literally crumble, We look weak when we attempt to carry burdens, we were never meant to carry. We look strong, when we let God carry our burdens precisely because, we are not under the weight of a burden too heavy for us to bear.  A weight we were never meant to carry. In truth, it is God who is strong. It is God’s strength they see. I am truly weak.

 2nd Corinthians 2:10 Therefore, I will boast in my weakness, because when I am weak, I am strong!

I am weak, powerless, broken, desperate, completely dependent, so the Lord draws close and gives strength, strength I do not possess.

Today marks 3 months.  Three months since Grant’s accident, and tomorrow it will have been 3 months since he left Earth, for his Heavenly home.  The longer he’s gone, the more I miss him…

He stood there looking at me with shock and bewilderment.  The blood had drained from his face and I could see the wheels of his mind churning as he was trying to decide how to tell me.  Colton, had just discovered that he had several messages in his Facebook account, that had been sent to him by the UCLA Medical Center the night Grant was fighting for his life.  In fact, we would discover later, that they had sent messages to me, and Grant’s sisters as well.  They had been desperately trying to get ahold of us so we could be by Grant’s side…and we could have been there, had we gotten the messages.

Apparently, Facebook has a spam folder in the message section of all Facebook accounts.  And for whatever reason, Facebook deemed all of these messages from the UCLA Medical Center, as spam.  So none of us were ever notified that we had received any of these messages.  They were still just sitting there waiting to be read.

Two steps forward, one step back. This journey of grieving with hope, fighting for joy, trusting God’s goodness. I get to a place where I feel like I am doing better, my faith is strong, I can see peace and joy in the distance, and then something happens and I take a step backwards. It was hard enough finding out that Grant’s phone was still working after his accident, and the police never called to tell us what had happened.  But now this! The hospital, desperately trying to make contact, only to have all of us completely unaware that Grant was fighting for his life, dying all alone, while the rest of us went about our normal lives.

Why, Lord, why?  Why did Grant have to die alone? We could have been there. We could have held him, prayed with him, lay with him.  We could have kissed him and said good bye.  Why? The relentless why, why, why’s bubbling back to the surface! They persist and try to dominate my days, my mind. Why did it have to be this way?

I know that there are countless things I will never know this side of eternity. And for most of my life I have been comfortable with the mysteries of God.  But this present pain lures me to look for explanations. Sorrow is desperate and seeks to convince that answers will bring comfort and peace. But I know in my heart and soul explanation won’t remove any pain.  And even if God were to answer all of my questions, those answers would only lead to more questions.  No, sorrow is not relieved by answers. It is relieved by the presence and nearness of God.

God’s nearness and presence in my life will give me rest, it is for my good, it is a refuge, and it will prevent me from being permanently shaken, brokenhearted, and crushed in spirit.

Matthew 11:28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Psalm 73:28 But as for me, the nearness of God is my good;I have made the Lord God my refuge

Psalm 16:8 I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

Psalm 34:18 The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

Two steps forward, one step back…this grief walk with God.  But given the choice, I would rather walk in God’s presence with Him near, with unanswered questions, than walk without Him, with all of the answers.

I find her laying on her bed weeping, his 16 year old little sister. In anguish, as she lays there looking at pictures of the two of them, the last time they were together. I sit next to her, rub her back, we weep together. I think of this verse as we lay there living this verse…

Psalm 77:1-3 I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands, and I would not be comforted. I remembered you, God, and I groaned; I meditated, and my spirit grew faint.

What do I tell her Lord? Give me the words. How do I help her make sense of this, when I can’t? How can I convince her you’re worthy of our trust in light of her unimaginable loss? How can I show her the depth of your love when all she can see is the lack she must now live with? Lord, you love her more than I do. Give me the words for this precious child of yours. What do I say to a soul that is crushed with sadness, a spirit that is faint?

Her illusion of a safe, good, predictable life has been shattered. She is exhausted from the churning undertow of sadness, missing, and longing.  Her suffering has opened the door to hard questions; and she asks them. Does life make sense? Is God good? Can I trust Him? Is there purpose to this pain?

And watching her, lay here in my arms, brings up questions of my own; Can I trust you, God, with her? How will this affect her soul, her walk with You, her love for You? Will this turn her towards You, with a growing awe and steadfast faith? Or will this drive her away from You? Will this make her long for Heaven in a new and fresh way? Or will her longing for Grant and things that should have been, cause bitterness and a hardened heart? Will you gain greater glory through our crippling pain?

I cannot answer all of these questions today.  Some we may never be able to answer, and others will not be revealed this side of Heaven.  But Lord, I know You can use this present darkness to reveal the brilliance of Your infinite goodness. I know that You can help her to see that healing does not come from answers, and comprehension is not necessary for trust. Help us both to stand on the truth of 2 Corinthinas 1:20 For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory. 

So I will look to Jesus today…tomorrow.  I will help her to see Jesus today…tomorrow.  And we will stand together in the shadow of the cross where all of your promises find their, yes, today…tomorrow; Amen…

I was talking to Grant’s old room mate a few nights ago; one of his best friends, more like a brother really.  We were checking in on each other.  As I asked him how he was doing, I was struck by his answer.  It was exactly where Glenn and I find ourselves often these days.  It looks something like this…

The panic and shock are gone, the heightened awareness of Grant’s absence is not the only thing we think about. The acute stabs of pain, which were once our constant companions, have been replaced with something else. Instead, in their place, there’s constant sadness, dullness, dread. In a word, we are haunted, tempted by apathy.

Grant’s friend even went on to say, “Something good happens and I think, ‘bleh.’ Something bad happens and I think, ‘bleh.’ Nothing seems to matter as it once did.  I just don’t feel like doing anything.”  Again, in a word, apathy.

I am no expert on grief, but I imagine this is quite normal. When you have lost something so dear to you, when you are faced with the brevity of life daily, and your eyes are fixed on the things of eternity in a way they never have been before, it’s hard to see the importance of things here.  So much of our lives are made up of the mundane, the ordinary. How do we prevent apathy from taking ahold of our souls?

I think by recognizing this. Everything matters. Because God exists then every good endeavor, even the simplest ones, pursued in response to God’s calling and done for His glory, can matter forever. All of the mundane tasks we do day-in and day-out, all of the ordinary tasks of life, they all have meaning when done to the glory of God! Even my suffering, if done for His glory,  will matter and have meaning. In reality, nothing else truly does matter. Only living a life with a heart set on things of eternal value, and doing them to glorify God, gives meaning to life, pain, and the mundane. I don’t want to live my life by rote memory. I want to live in the realization that everything I do matters to God and can be used by God. If I do it for Him, it turns the ordinary into the extraordinary!

Grant’s life will continue in how his death has changed me. I have seen a glimpse of the eternal in a new and fresh way, because Grant is there. And now I am forever ruined. I want what he has. Any goal that lacks the eternal as its purpose feels empty, meaningless. But as I continue to live this life, with the primary goal to glorify God in word and deed, it gives meaning and eternal weight to the mundane. It brings hope, for the life left here…

I know God is real and near to me. More now than ever before. What proof can I offer?

I have cried out out in unimaginable pain. I have yelled at God, and screamed out my why questions. I have wanted to hate Him, and denounce my faith. I have charged Him with cruelty and demanded the happy carefree life, I imagine I deserve. Sometimes, because of what has happened, I have felt bitterness and hurt to the point that I don’t even want to talk to God. But then as quick as I have those thoughts I think, “Well, where does that leave you, Alisa? On your own…with no resources, no truth to dispel your despair.  Where else would you turn? Where else would you go? If not to God, who else? Where else?”

That is why God is more real to me today than He was 3 months ago.  When I have tried to push away, He has pulled me in.  I turn to Him for comfort, and I am immediately comforted. I cry out for peace, and it washes over me.  I am angry, furious He did not behave as I imagined a loving God should. And yet, I feel his love.  There’s no denying it. How? How is that possible? Because He is real, God is real. I have never been more sure of anything in my life!

Losing Grant, has proven to me, that there is no comfort to be found apart from God. There are distractions, temporary fixes. But no lasting, deep, satisfying, sustainable comfort. Knowing that God is near will not bring understanding about this tragedy, but it is vitally important, precisely because I will not always understand life. Rest will never be found in having my own way or in figuring it all out.  True rest will only be found as I am willing to believe that God is good, He is near, and relishing in His nearness. Healing doesn’t come from the explained, understanding, comprehension. Only the truth of God’s word and the touch of His healing presence can bring the kind of comfort I crave.  His promises of purpose in the life I have left here and the perfection in the life to come in eternity, offer me any kind of real hope to cling to. Yes, God is real.  I have never been more sure of anything in my life!

My salvation has been proven to me thru this Suffering. God has sustained my faith when I wanted to throw it out. I know that my religion is not just profession, but relationship with the God Most High. I have found comfort in the doctrines I have built my life on, which proves their truth. I have stood on the border of my son’s grave and yet still believe the gospel with heart, soul, and mind. There is no guess work here, in the valley, my faith is assured. Experimental knowledge is the best and surest test. Yes, God is real. I have never been more sure of anything in my life!

God has given me strength in the moments I have been the weakest of my life. There has been more comfort in my desperation, than there ever was in my merriness.  He has revealed Himself more, here in the dark, than I was ever able to see in the bright sunny days.  None of this removes the pain, but amidst the suffering there are moments of peace and joy because all doubt is gone that I am a daughter of the King. Yes, I know God is real! I have never been more sure of anything in my life.

I don’t know the originator of this list but I share it here because so many of you have asked how you can help, what to say, what not to say…  I hope it doesn’t come across as self-serving I really am posting it because so many of you have asked.  It’s  just a small insight into the life of a parent who is attempting to live the “new normal” after the death of a beloved child. (I have added to the original list and personalized it)

1. Please don’t be afraid to talk to me about Grant.  He lived and was very important to me, and it is a comfort to me to know that he was important to you, too.  My son is pretty much always on my mind anyway…you’re not going to “remind” me that he is gone. So if the Lord lays something on your heart, or you just want to talk about him, please do.
2. If I cry when you speak of Grant, it isn’t because you have hurt me. It isn’t because you have said something wrong. Grant’s death is the cause of my tears and there is profound sadness and I miss him and what could have been.  If I cry you have allowed me me to share my grief, and in a sense, walk the road of suffering with me for a moment. So thank you. And please don’t mind the tears. They will be with me for a long time.
3. If I seem absent-minded and forgetful, that’s because I am!  “Grief Brain” is a common malady in bereaved parents.  I’m really not losing my mind, but sometimes I may feel like I am, and it may appear like I am at times.  But when grieving, your mind is so preoccupied with other things, there isn’t much room for anything else for a season. So I will probably be quite forgetful…sorry.
4. Please don’t expect my grieving to be over in six months, or even in a year.  The early months may be the most traumatic for me, but please understand that my grief will never fully end until the day I am reunited with Grant in Heaven.  And though it may sound strange, I don’t really want my pain to completely go away…it helps me stay connected with my child. In time, it won’t be the primary feeling anymore, and grief will not define me.  Joy will make it’s way back to the top, but in some measure, it will always be with me, below the surface.
5. When you ask me how I’m doing, that’s a really hard question for me to answer.  Neither one of us has enough time for me to fully and accurately answer that question. So I will probably give you my pat answer, “I am profoundly sad, fighting for joy moment by moment, and I still believe.” It’s the truth and succinct.  If you want a more detailed, lengthy answer, I am happy to give it. But I can pretty much guarantee it will come with tears.
6. Please forgive me if I seem rude at times.  I am so sorry.  Sometimes I just don’t have the emotional stamina to participate in small talk and keep the smile on my face.  Deep suffering is exhausting, emotionally and physically. And sometimes I will simply not have it in me to chit chat about things that have no eternal weight.  There’s just not enough left over for that. So if I sit quietly and listen, please know that it has nothing to do with you.
7. I pray you will never know how I feel.  I would not wish this suffering on my worst enemy. So it’s OK for you to feel relief that God has asked me to walk this road, and not you.  I understand that, and would feel the same way if the roles were reversed.  But please don’t tell me that you understand what I am going thru or that you know how I feel. Unless you have lost a child, I don’t think you can understand how it feels, and that’s OK. You do not need to know how it feels to be a comfort to us. And similar to that, please do not try and answer the “why” questions that hang in the air in a situation like this. None of us can comprehend the mind of God. We do not know why, and probably never will this side of Heaven. Even though as humans we crave answers and understanding in suffering, it’s not helpful or fruitful, for the bereaved parent, to have folks try and come up with possible reasons for why God has chosen this for our family. Healing doesn’t come from the explained. None of us knows the answers and nothing said will fix it or make the pain go away, only the Lord can do that. So just hug me and be OK with the fact that you have no words, I am.
8. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so please don’t shy away from me. I need your support now more than ever before. Praying for me, touching in, sending notes of encouragement, texts to let me know you’re thinking about us, are all means of grace the Lord uses and each one brings a sense of comfort and reminds us we are not walking the road of suffering alone. You are the hands and feet of Jesus, and we are humbled and so grateful. Please be there for the long haul…we’re going to need it.
9. You may see me struggling emotionally sometimes, especially when I’m at church.  This does not mean that I have lost my faith.  I am more sure of God now than I have ever been in my life. However, for a variety of reasons, church is just a very emotional place to be for someone suffering loss. So, if you see me crying at church, or any where else for that matter, please know you have done nothing wrong and it’s nothing personal. I am trying to regain a life that is more than performance, while deep down the heart still aches. So tears will come, but please know, it is not you, or anything you said, or anything you did or did not do. I am heartache wearing a smile, and occasionally, tears will fall.
10. Please understand that the loss of a child changes a person.  When Grant died, a part of me died with him.  I am not the same person that I was before my child died and I will never be that person again. The death of a child changes the way you see God, the way you see this life and the next, the way you see yourself and your role in this thing we call life.  It changes your priorities, your affections, and your ambitions. When the dust settles, and I look back on the old Alisa, my prayer is that the renovated Alisa is upgraded and improved; more sanctified, more dependent on her Savior and more aware of her dependency. I pray I am more grateful, more God focused and Heaven minded, and more in love with my Heavenly Father than I knew possible.  I pray that my trust is unwavering, my faith more assured than before, that my soul’s full of hope, and that God’s glory can shine thru this broken earthly vessel.  But regardless of what changes take place, please know, you cannot expect me to be the same person. I am forever changed.

I can’t back it up Biblically, but I believe there is healing in crying; tears bring restoration one drop at a time. So I am learning to let the tears fall when they come.  I was having one of those times in the car a few mornings ago.  Crying out to God, lamenting about the choices I have made with my life…doubting them, wondering if I would do it the same way if given the chance. Tearfully contemplating whether or not this would be easier if I had not been so invested…kept myself busy with other things besides motherhood. I even pondered this morning if life would have been easier, less painful, without kids, without such strong attachments.  It’s a vulnerable place to be, when you love something more than life itself. I know that the above musings seem incomprehensible (even to me), but at times of great suffering, you think crazy things; things you would never think with a sober mind. And I was evaluating whether or not love was worth it, when it can bring so much pain.

 But before I could come to any conclusions, God saved me from my self and pulled me from the pit of despair. I was LITERALLY having the conversation above, with God, when my phone alerted me to let me know that I had a message waiting for me on Facebook.  So I pulled into the garage and this is what was waiting for me. As I read the below quote, I had just been asking God, is love worth it…

 “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the coffin of your selfishness. But, in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it WILL change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to the risk of tragedy is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers of love is Hell. I believe the most lawless loves are less contrary to God’s will than a self-protected lovelessness. Christ did not teach and suffer that we might become more careful of our own happiness. We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them back to Him; throwing away all defensive armor. If our hearts need to be broken, and if he chooses (love) as the way in which they should break, so be it.” (C.S. Lewis, Four Loves)

 I do NOT believe this was any coincidence! It was nothing short of a miracle…a healing miracle to my soul. I heard God speaking to me thru these words…He was answering my cries with this quote and the faithfulness of a precious friend to send it!

 So, love has a cost…is it worth the cost? God thought love was worth it, no matter the cost. God’s love cost Him the very best that He had, His only Son. That is the message of the greatest love text in the Bible: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Love costs.

 God thought love was worth it, no matter the cost. God’s giving His Son involved more than merely allowing Him to leave Heaven’s glory and enter earth’s history. It meant allowing Him to die in our place and pay the awful debt of our sins. God proved His love conclusively and irrefutably by sending His Son to the cross as an atoning sacrifice for our sins (Romans 5:8; 1 John 4:9-10). Love costs.

 God thought love was worth it, no matter the cost. It was no less of a sacrifice for God the Son than it was for God the Father. His willingness to offer Himself was the pinnacle of costly love. Paul called Him “the Son of God, who loved me, and delivered Himself up for me” (Galatians 2:20).  Jesus Christ made the supreme sacrifice for me when He died in my place. He was falsely accused, beaten, spit on, crowned with thorns, nailed to a cross, and left to die the most excruciating death known to man. Love costs.

God the son, thought love was worth it, no matter the cost. He had the power to walk away from that gruesome death unscathed, yet He voluntarily stayed there and bore that suffering for me. There simply is no greater love (John 15:13). Love costs.

Yes, Love is costly.  Sometimes it will cost you more than you could possibly comprehend. Just ask God. So is it worth the cost? Yes, it is.  Just ask God!

I have been a fairly strong believer since I was 18.  I have loved the Lord and walked closely with Him for 34 years.  There has never been a day, in all that time, that I have doubted the truth of God’s word.  So I thought that my faith would make this easier? I thought my faith would make this hurt less. But it doesn’t. It hurts more than I can even describe. I find it hard to believe that a heart can keep beating under the weight of the soul crushing experience of this kind of sorrow and loss. No, my faith has not made this hurt any less.

But what it does do? My faith keeps me from being swallowed by despair. My faith has not taken away the pain, but it keeps my thoughts and emotions fixed on the promises I have in Christ. My faith has breathed hope into my loss.

I believe that those that have died in Christ are experiencing the reality of their new resurrected bodies, they are in Heaven, and they are experiencing unending joy! My faith knows that Grant’s death was actually a beginning, a new life for him in the presence of God! My faith reminds me everyday that this sorrow will someday turn into joy, and that we will be reunited, for eternity. And my faith reminds me that God is good, regardless of how I feel at times, and he proves that goodness in the cross of Christ.  And it is my faith that reminds me to look to that cross 10 times for every look to my present sadness.

So, no, my faith has not taken away the pain or made this hurt any less. But my faith has definitely changed how I grieve; because of my faith I can grieve with hope…

Hard night. Hard morning. Grief is such a strange thing.  You can feel like things are getting a little easier, and then without warning you find yourself consumed with fresh sadness, and weeping again with little relief in sight.  I was failing miserably this morning to rely on Christ and His strength.  Rather, I woke up consumed with my circumstances, my impending day, my profound sadness, and felt overwhelmed and weary.  I knew I needed help to reorient my focus to survive the day, so I turned to the scriptures.

So we do not lose heart.  Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.  For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.  2 Corinthians 4:16-18

The only way for me to “not lose heart” thru this loss is by “looking to the things that are unseen.”  As long as I am focused on my current circumstances, my current loss, a future with 3 instead of 4, I am going to be weary and overwhelmed.  God wants me to focus on Him and my eventual eternity with Him.  I need to meditate on the “eternal weight of glory” and remind myself moment by moment that it is “beyond all comparison” to anything here. Where I spend my time “looking” is so critical.

I am reminded of Peter, this morning. He was so focused on Jesus he climbed right out of the boat when Jesus called to him, and started walking on the water towards Jesus!  Imagine, he was walking on water!  As long as he was looking at Jesus he was fine.  But he eventually took his eyes off of Christ and concerned himself with the wind blowing all around him and the raging sea, and when he did this he began to sink.

Why did Peter sink?  His circumstances hadn’t changed.  He was still on the same water, the wind was the same, the waves were the same, and Christ was still right there in front of him bidding Peter to come.  But Peter stopped looking at Christ and focused on his circumstances instead.  When he stopped focusing on Jesus, he allowed his situation to change his view of things.  Suddenly, because he looked at the wind and waves, things seemed impossible.  Because his focus changed and he allowed himself to look at the raging storm all around him, it seemed to be more than he could handle, and he began to sink.

I do not want to be a Peter today. Heavenly Father, help me to not lose heart, help me to keep my focus off of “the wind and storm” swirling about me.  As I walk through my day today fix my focus and gaze on you and your eternal glory so that I may grieve as one with hope…

And to add, one of Grant’s good friends, Tim Berry, said this on FB today; “The beautiful thing about that story is that even though Peter loses sight of Jesus, Jesus never loses sight of Peter and pulls him up and out of the water (his circumstances) when he cries out for help.” Love this, Tim ❤