The Gift of Grief Revisited

I wrote most of the following entry about five years ago. As I pray for another mom who has a milestone to get through today, I am reminded of it. I made a few edits, but this, for me, is probably my most memorable post.

As I woke up this morning, I had a picture in my head of grief being like a gift. (The image above doesn't even come close, but it's the best I could do.) I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. It’s a gift that no one really wants, but we all receive at some point. Some of us receive it earlier in life. Some receive it more often. But if you ever love anyone, chances are, you will receive the gift of grief somewhere along the way.

My grief is wrapped up in a beautiful box. Early in my grief journey, I carried it with me everywhere I went. It was heavy and it consumed every moment of every day. It invaded every decision, every action, every move I made. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t go into Wal Mart without carrying this giant gift with me. It was heavy and cumbersome. I felt like everyone was looking at me and my conspicuous package. I felt like I had “Grieving Mom” tattooed across my forehead. I would think, “Yes, I’m the one… the mom of the one you read about in the newspaper last weekend. She was my sunshine and my delight and now she’s gone. I am her grieving mother.”

As time went by, I was able to leave my gift at home more often. It was still there. It was still mine, but I didn’t have to carry it with me everywhere I went. Now, almost seven years after my daughter’s death, (it's almost 12 now.) it’s like I keep my gift on a shelf. Every now and then, especially on holidays, birthdays, and what would have been milestones in her life, I take my gift down off the shelf. I open it up and take out my grief. I hold it in my hands, turning it over and over. I feel the weight of it, the hardness of it. The coldness of it. I know this sounds crazy, but I also admire its beauty. I cry a little—sometimes a lot. I blog about it some, but not as often as I used to. But then, I put my grief back in that box. I tie the beautiful bow around it, and I gently place it back on the shelf.

Then I go on with life. Seven years ago, I never would have believed that I could go on with life without my daughter. But here I am, functioning, parenting again, serving, living. And my gift of grief remains… until the next time I take it down off the shelf. My grief has changed my life, but it no longer consumes my life. Because of this gift, I have found a Hope that I otherwise would never have known… a true Unswerving Hope.

Gift of Grief Kinda Day

9 years ago today I thought my reason for living was gone. But here I am, still living, still breathing, still hoping, still dreaming. God is faithful.

The Gift of Today

A year ago today, I downloaded a devotional called Jesus Calling to my Kindle. Today’s entry is interesting since this date has the power to reach deep into my soul and jerk the tears right out of my eyes. Here’s what it says…

“Open your hands and your heart to receive this day as a precious gift from Me. I begin each day with a sunrise, announcing My radiant Presence. By the time you rise from your bed, I have already prepared the way before you.”

Really God? Was this day eight years ago a precious gift from you? Did you prepare it for us before we even got out of bed that morning? Because by 6:00 that night, my entire existence was changed. My little girl’s life on earth came to a screeching halt as you gently lifted her off this earth and into your presence. Great news for her, life changing, faith altering, excruciating grief for me!

Eight years ago? Really? Can it have been that long? Or has it been 800 years? Sometimes it feels like it was that long ago. And yet, as I type this, the tears flow as freely as if it were yesterday. Yes, this is a Gift of Grief kind of day.

My devotional continues… “Bring Me the gift of thanksgiving, which opens your heart to rich communion with Me. Because I am God, from whom all blessings flow, thankfulness is the best way to draw near Me. Sing praise songs to Me; tell of My wondrous works. Remember that I take great delight in you; I rejoice over you with singing.”

Oh, I remember those days following this date eight years ago. Praise and thanksgiving did not come easily. It was truly a “sacrifice of praise” as I stood in church and attempted to sing. It’s hard to sing when you’re choking on grief. But I did it anyway. Sometimes alone in the balcony with my sweater pulled up over my head and tears streaming down my face. But deep in my heart, I knew You were weeping right along with me. Those times were indeed excruciating, but Your presence was so near. There is a special sweetness about those times. Thanksgiving in the midst of such pain really does open our hearts to rich communion with You.

So, again today, for the eighth time, I will offer up the sacrifice of praise, trusting that Your Word is true… that You are who you say You are… That You’ll do what You say You’ll do. You are my only Hope—My Unswerving Hope.