WINTERGRACE

                                                                                   

                                                       This is my season of wintergrace.

After the long, dark, hard season of being lost in my own life last year following Bob's death, my move to Minnesota, the separation from friends and familiar culture and adrift from my own self identity (as I expressed in this blog post), I feel that I am coming into a new season, a softer and gentler place for my soul to dwell.

This wintergrace season is a place of acceptance, a place of release, a place of quiet noticing and wonder, of gratitude for the ordinary, of cherishing memories with joy...joy that doesn't deny grief but that is comfortable holding grief within it. Wintergrace makes space for God to lovingly draw me forward into this journey and out of the time I needed to sit in my losses.

 Wintergrace is an embracing of today as a gift and this season in my life as no less a gift than all the seasons of my past.

Wintergrace is yielding to the reality that just as we live in the physical world where spring transitions surely into summer, summer yields to autumn and finally, autumn releases to winter, that there are also seasons of the spirit and seasons of our years on this earth.
Each season has its beauty and also its hardships, but it is God's grace in each season that can transform how we choose to live them, and especially how we respond to winter and what we allow God to teach us in the winter season.
                                                                                   

                                                            (photo from publicdomainpictures.net)

                                                      "It is the time so well we love.
                                                         The time of all the year;
                                                       When winter calls with chilling breath,
                                                         For fireside and good cheer.

                                                        A time for man and beast to stand
                                                          And feel the season turn;
                                                        To watch the stars for secret signs,
                                                           And God's true lessons learn." (Jean Ritchie, Wintergrace)

I heard this song for the first time several weeks ago at a Christmas concert. The title, Wintergrace, captured my attention. The juxtoposition of "winter"--- my least favorite season, certainly not " the time so well I love" but always a time to complain, to endure and to hunker down in a survival mode until spring returned---and "grace", a word that has so much richness of gratitude and joy and love to me, the word that encompasses all of God's goodness and faithfulness throughout my life---was so incongruous and yet so captivating that it nestled into my mind and spirit.

I started pondering on what "wintergrace" could look like in my life if I embraced it.
Could I start thriving and not just surviving winter? Could I "God's true lessons learn" in this season of cold and snow and ice, of bare branches and empty flower beds, of long dark nights and short gray days of winter?

And what of the winter in my spirit, the empty place of loneliness and feeling adrift in living as a widow and as a sojourner in a place that is not my home? Could wintergrace bring new hope and growth there?

Having recently celebrated a decade turning birthday I have also been "numbering my days", as the Bible says, reflecting on this new season of my years here on earth and what God is saying to me and desiring for me in this winter season as I age. And, make no mistake, I have recognized that the Autumn season of my life has passed surely, irrevocably, definitely into the Winter and final season.

I may not feel old, I may not self-identify as a senior citizen, I may reject the labels and expectations and limitations of my age, but the truth is, I am in the season of my life where the journey on this earth is very,very,very much shorter than the journey behind me. And so, I have been asking, "How then should I live?"  "How do I want to be defined in this season?" "What matters most in order to finish well?" "What is God's purpose for me in these years?"

I found these words in Psalm 92:14-15a in the Amplified Version: (italized pronoun changed by me)

                   [Growing in grace] she will still thrive and bear fruit and prosper in old age;              
                she will flourish and be vital and fresh [rich in trust and love and contentment].                                     She is a living memorial to declare that the Lord is upright and faithful.                

This is what it means to me to live in wintergrace...God's grace still producing growth, fruit, making me thrive and prosper and flourish in Him!

Several years ago, I saw these words on a church sign:

                                       OLD AGE DOESN'T ALWAYS BRING WISDOM.
                                    SOMETIMES, IT COMES ALONE.

Let that one sit a minute :)

Unfortunately, often old age not only doesn't bring wisdom, it sometimes brings some unpleasant companions....bitterness, resentment, dissatisfaction, disappointment, anger, resignation and apathy among others.  I do not want to be an old lady who brings these companions with her!

I don't want to spend this season looking back in regret or sorrow or longing for what is over.

I also don't want to spend this season in dread and fear for what is to come.

And I know it is only through God's grace and the work of the Holy Spirit as I yield to him daily that I can live a flourishing life. My default setting is a melancholy personality...I am more Eeyore than Tigger! But, praise God, He can change me even now in this winter season of life!

So, I am intentionally choosing to embrace winter and change my viewpoint of it ---these winter months of the year, and also in the season of my spirit, and in this season of my years left on earth.

These months of January and February, I am redefining how I experience the physical season of winter through the practice of hygge, (hue-guh : creating a warm, cozy atmosphere with an enjoyment of the moment) by deliberately choosing to notice and enjoy the simple pleasures of winter...

 the comforting sensation against my skin of cozy sherpa lined socks, velour pj's and a fleece robe on a chilly morning...savoring the complexity of taste in Mexican hot chocolate with chili pepper....the sense of well-being of snuggling in a fuzzy throw, engrossed in a book near a flickering candle  on a sub zero day...                                                   
                                                                             

                               
                                                     

  

... the beauty of diamond-glitter as sunshine sparkles on a blanket of snow and the artful contrast of pure white snow icing on a grove of black, bare branched trees against a soft gray sky...
                                     
                                                                           

                                                                           
..the winter scents of my apple-pumpkin candle (reminiscent of the aromatic pipe tobacco Bob smoked in our early years), the comforting chicken soup simmering on the stove, the spicy mix of cinnamon, cardamom, ginger and cloves wafting up from my Chai latte, the sharp, crisp scent of cold air when I first step outside on a winter morning...

...the pleasure of watching my grandchildren's pure enjoyment of tasting, throwing, sledding, falling into and laying in the snow...

....the comfort of walking into my warm apartment, twinkling tiny lights around the window, pictures of loved ones on shelves and tabletops and dearly treasured items from the past to welcome me home.

     (my bentwood rocker was a Christmas gift from Bob early in our marriage and has moved all over the country with us)

Spiritually,  I am continuing to practice eucharisteo ( this post ),by beginning each morning in thanksgiving, naming things big and small for which I am thankful in my life...
.
                        Because, there is always, always, always something to be thankful for!

Each morning, I read the verse I quoted above from Psalm 92 and ask the Lord to grow me in His grace in this way. I list Bible verses that remind me of God's attributes and love and faithfulness and I meditate on these things. I am making a list of places in the Bible where God tells me to be glad, to be happy, to rejoice and I see that none of this is tied to my circumstances.

And as I think of how to number my days in this season of aging, I look for God's hand in the opportunities He sets before me.

The church where I was feeling adrift has offered me places to serve and a place to connect, grow and share with other women in my season of life.

My family brings joy and the privilege of praying for my children and grandchildren and investing my time and energy into their lives.

My friends, although far away, also give me the joy of praying for them in their challenges.rejoicing with them in happy times and of offering to them, and receiving from them, encouragement, love and affirmation.

Even Facebook is an opportunity to be a testimony to God's faithfulness and to share a verse or thought or smile to bless one of the many people God has woven into my life through the years. Although we may never meet again here on earth, we were put in each others lives for a reason and can still be grace-givers and hope-fillers and speak truth and encouragement into each others stories!

Psalm 92:4 says, "For you, O LORD, have made me glad by your work: at the works of your hands I sing for joy. " And in verse 14 God promises, " They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green."         

 I see a connection between these two verses...

It is a glad heart, caused by eyes that seek and find the works of His hand in our lives, that will produce fruit and make us fresh and green in winter seasons of hard times, of loss, of all the "it wasn't supposed to be this way" things that come into our lives over and over as we sojourn on this earth.
It is the work of the Holy Spirit to cause growth and fruit and make me glad,  but my will must choose to open to His work in order to receive the gift of wintergrace.

This is my hope, my prayer, for however many winter days, months and years that God has ordained for me, that God's wintergrace will keep me fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, so that I will be green in winter!
                                                                         

And this is my prayer and hope for you, dear one, whatever your winter season is right now!
" May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all."  2 Corinthians 13:14
                                                                 
                                                   Wintergrace is yours for the accepting!






                   

LIFE IN DISRUPTION

                                                                             

   
“When you are lost
in your own life.

When the landscape
you have known
falls away.

When your familiar path
becomes foreign
and you find yourself
a stranger
in the story you had held
most dear.

Then let yourself be lost.”

This is the beginning of a poem by Jan Richardson * that I read a few months ago. These words have been resonating in my mind and soul ever since. They spoke to what I knew was true in my life since Bob died, but that I had failed to fully recognize and process.

I have struggled to express in my journal all the confusion and emotions that I’ve been experiencing since moving to Minnesota at the beginning of my second year as a widow. Not long before reading this poem, I wrote this in my journal....

" My life feels like a coat that doesn’t quite fit. A little too snug in the middle, a little too short in the sleeves, a little too long in length—not absolutely terrible, not completely miserable, not unwearable, just uncomfortable enough that I seem to be constantly pulling and tugging, unable to feel at ease."

Moving to Minnesota has disrupted my life in a way that has taken me by surprise. It has uncovered emotions that were buried. It has left me feeling out of step and out of place, a wayfarer stranded between destinations who is uncertain how to proceed to get home again.
                                                                                   

disruption: a disturbance that interrupts a process; an interruption in the usual way a process works.
My life was profoundly disrupted, of course, by the loss of Bob in my life. But,it was a further disruption to leave the dearly loved home in Virginia, that lovely, light infused home that God so graciously provided for us to spend the last months of Bobs life here on earth, where I could still ”see” him in his recliner, on the deck, in the swing under the trees.  It was a disruption to leave precious friends who cushioned my fresh grief with their presence and prayers, softening my landing in the new life of widowhood. I felt I was coping fairly well with my grief and loss, that first year of living without Bob.

It was a disruption to find myself in a land of bitter cold like I have never known before, more snow than I'd previously seen in my entire life, and a culture that is unexpectedly quite different from my ingrained southern way of life and speaking and thinking.
 I did not fully realize how much I had not processed in this journey of grief and loneliness until my familiar landscape fell away.
                                                                           

It was a disruption to find myself an outsider in those aspects of my life that I had expected would quickly become a familiar haven and place of belonging...in the Bible study organization that had nurtured my faith for so many years previously, in the church community that still doesn't feel like home after all these months, in the apartment building where I live among people who smile and briefly greet me on the stairs while remaining strangers.

 It was a disruption to feel not just alone, but profoundly lonely in a way more deeply than even in the first year of Bob's absence.  It has profoundly shaken me...the raw, fresh welling up of sorrow and loneliness and aching for the presence of the one who was by my side for almost half a century and who now is so deeply absent in my life.

                     

I almost didn't write this.
I almost decided not to publish this.
I hesitated to expose my sadness, my lostness, the vulnerability of being a stranger in my own life.

And yet...
Lament is present in the Bible.

God does not deny that our story on this earth includes the dark spaces, the wilderness experiences, the times in the pit.  The Bible study I just completed had us delve into David's psalms, which are honest and raw and filled with outpourings of all the hard emotions. These words were inspired by the Holy Spirit and ordained to be included in His Word by the One who created us and who knows us best and loves us most.

                                                                               
Our God is not threatened, offended or diminished by our honest experiences of loss, grief, or disappointment.  But, I'm afraid we have too often received the message that He is.  Or that we are failing to be victorious, to trust God, or to have faith if we give voice to the sadness of the dark places in our lives.
 Sometimes in Christian circles, if we are brave enough to share where we are at a dark moment, the response from others is to unconsciously minimize our feelings by too quickly quoting a verse, or pointing out our blessings, or making an "at least" statement, such as, "at least you had a good marriage for a long time"...."at least you have good memories..."at least you have...(fill in the blank,)"or any of the other responses that try to help us move past the expressed hurt. But these responses only make us feel unheard, unacknowledged, and somehow diminished for our feelings.

The intent is to be helpful. The reality is to make us lonelier in our grief.
I confess that I have been guilty of doing this to others also.
 
But by trying to move too quickly out of the hard places, the real losses of our stories and the accompanying grief, we are losing some truth about ourselves and about life here on this side of eternity. Because life is hard. And sometimes, life is grief.  And it is not a denial of faith or trust or hope to acknowledge that.  How can we help one another without being authentic about our own story?

 I am learning that it is important to lean in to the hard because that is when I most truly lean in to Jesus.
 I am learning that there is a time to "be still and know that I am God", without needing to do anything or accomplish anything or perform in any way. I am learning that there is a time to let myself be lost in my life and not to be too quick to shut that door, for God has a purpose even in this.

I read these words recently in an online retreat, "What if the very thing our soul needs to grow and flourish is a shock to its system?  Could pausing and allowing life to come to a screeching halt enable us to articulate how God is moving in our lives? ... Transformation doesn't happen without a disruption. Christ making his home in our heart serves as a disruption to the old way: old patterns of thinking, old patterns of responding, old ways of dealing with bad habits. 
Newness requires adjustment and reflection."   
                  
                                                          When a plant is disrupted by transplantation, it often goes into shock at first. It may droop and wilt,  appear to stop growing, drop leaves and even turn yellow or brown on the edges. But, outward appearances are not the entire truth. With time and patience and not demanding too much of the plant at first, this disruption, if done with care in expert hands, will result in a plant that is healthier and more vigorous than before, one that thrives and flourishes. Without the disruption, the plant would not send out deeper roots and would become less than it was designed to be.

I take courage from the lessons God has put before us in His created world. I know that He is the Master Gardener and there is a skilled and loving hand working in and through my disrupted life, even when I feel lost in it, even when I am a stranger in my own story, struggling to make this life fit.

So, in these past months I have let myself be lost.  I have opened the grief door and allowed myself to feel what I feel, pouring out my heart while embraced in the arms of my Heavenly Father, the One who knows me best and loves me most. I have both cried and sat tearless in my loneliness.

I have taken time for reflection. I have dug deep, I have examined my life, I have prayed and sought the face of God, I have asked questions about His purpose and plans for me in this season.
I have practiced opening my hands before the Lord, to both  release and to receive. 
I have given thanks for what was and I have mourned for what is not and will never be.

                                                                               

I have written verses on post it notes, I have made lists of spiritual aspirations, I have revised my bucket list, I have thought extensively about this last season of my life and what it should look like and how then I should live.  I have become aware of long standing bad habits, broken-record reactions, places of unforgiveness and deeply ingrained false thinking about myself and have realized anew how desperately I need God's grace every moment of every day.
                                                                         

 

                                                                         

I have not been blooming, but I pray that I have been growing.  And I trust that eventually I will grow into this new life of mine, that it will not feel so ill-fitting and strange. But a little discomfort, a little lostness, a little feeling of being a stranger is a part of living on this side of Heaven. Because only when I am aware of being not quite at home in my story do I turn my eyes on the Storymaker and ask Him for His presence and provision and promises to guide me and comfort me and call me daily to find my home only in Him.

And even in this season of feeling lost, disrupted, a stranger,  there is so much for which to be thankful and so many moments of pure joy and delight. There are flashes of glory, vistas of beauty, heart warming hugs and cries of delight from my grandchildren, soul stirring praise, sweet phone calls and texts from true friends, and always, always, always the anchor holds, the foundation is secure, and my Savior holds me fast. I may feel lost, but I know I am not ever truly lost.
                               
                                                                             

 I am beginning to see and feel signs of newness again, of finding my way again, of new roots pushing down and new growth breaking forth. It is subtle, but it is there. God is still writing new chapters in my story. I am closer to the finale, but He is still developing the plot, introducing new characters, new conflicts, new resolutions before He closes the book. I will never stop missing Bob's presence, but I choose to embrace the entire story, knowing that He writes it with love for my good and His glory. 
I pray that my sharing this with you will give you some encouragement, some comfort, some hope for your own story in the hard times, and courage to share it with others for their comfort.

"He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us."  2 Corinthians 1:4

*the poem at the beginning is from the book The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief by Jan Richardson



One of the many songs God has used to assure me during this disrupted year...He Will Hold Me Fast by Keith and Kristen Getty....listen here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=936BapRFHaQ

Holding On and Letting Go...a season of change

Change is coming.

Whether I embrace it or resist it, change is coming.

Not just the seasonal change that is already evident in my daily walks...
there is the hint of crispness in the early morning air as I head out the door, and the early achiever trees have already dropped brown leaves that skitter and crunch beneath my steps ...

the raucous honking of the Canadian geese draws my gaze upward to their graceful flight as they soar southward...
the small clumps of subdued children gathering at the corner bus stops, stooping under backpacks weighed with the evidence that carefree summer days are over.


Not just the physical changes that appear in my mirror each morning....
new gray strands in my hair...
 new wrinkles around my eyes and mouth (smile lines, I hope!)...
 hands that I don't recognize as mine when I unexpectedly focus on them (how did I suddenly get my grandmothers hands, anyway?)

No, this change is more challenging, more profound, and demands more of my heart and soul to adapt to it.

The rhythm of my newly constructed life without Bob is being upended, and like the child's game of Fruit Basket Turnover, everything is in motion and disarray until it settles into a new arrangement.

Change is coming and I must choose how to respond.

I must choose what to hold onto and what to let go of in this season of change. 

I won't pretend that it isn't hard.
Unlike the geese, I am moving north.  I am moving to Minnesota.


                                                                           

In this move, I am letting go of the house I have loved more than any other that I have lived in through the years. This last home that I shared with Bob, its cheerful yellow walls and light filled rooms are also filled with memories of him sitting on the deck listening to the birds while enjoying his morning coffee, gazing through the skylights enjoying the splashing and pattering of falling rain, sitting with the grandsons in the front yard swing, and resting in his recliner as the sun streamed through the windows as he grew weaker.

I am letting go of sweet times with friends that have loved me, listened to my grief and also laughed with me, lunched with me and lifted my spirits, making this past year a year of joy and not just a year of sorrow.
                                                                        

I am letting go of my church and my Bible study group, both of which have fed me spiritually this past year with music and teaching and fellowship. Less importantly,  but still a change and an adjustment, I am letting go of all the familiar, multiple things that make daily life easy.... the grocery where I know the layout and can shop quickly, the hairdresser I finally found who can bring some style to my limp hair, the restaurants and stores and doctors and dentists that are part of the seamless routine of my days.
I am moving to a new state, a new climate, a smaller home.

And, as part of this move, I am making choices as I pack,  what do I hold onto, what do I let go?

 Of course, some decisions  are easy.  The clothes that no longer fit, the marred table that was bought to "make do" until getting something better, the serving tray that has taken up space for years and only pressed into service a time or two, these are easily released.
 But then there are the things with emotional weight,  possessions that have moved with me across the years, across many states and life stages, things that have memories associated with them of people or events in the past. Do I keep or release the large rattan bookcases that Bob brought back in the hold of the ship from his first deployment? What about my basket collection from the years as a consultant for the company, books that I've collected and read that reflect various seasons of my life, decorative items from a trip, an experience, a gift?

 And, harder yet. Things that were Bob's, that were of value to him but no longer serve a purpose. The box of heavy wooden and metal plaques that were given to him at the end of each duty station in the Navy, his uniform medals, his collection of caps, pictures presented to him from appreciative shipmates of ships and chapels where he served. Physical representations of his life and ministry which are hard to part with but which I don't have space for anymore.

      

As I consider each item, I ask, "Do I need this? Is it truly useful to me?", and if not, I ask Marie Kondo's question, "Does this spark joy?" Another quote from her that has been helpful is, "When you come across something that you can't part with, think carefully about it's purpose in your life...many of the things you possess have already fulfilled their roles. To truly cherish the things that are important to you, you must first discard those that have outlived their purpose."

                                                                         

But the process of holding on and letting go of physical possessions and places also applies to my thoughts and attitudes.  And this is the deeper process.


I can choose to focus on what I have lost and am losing, on the pain of saying goodbye and letting go, or I can choose to fix my focus on what I am holding onto.


David Jeremiah said in a sermon, "Sometimes we concentrate so much in what we've lost that we forget what we still have." An author, Kate Morton, writes, "You make a life out of what you have, not what you're missing." And the greatest Author of all reminds me, "Do not call to mind the former things or ponder things of the past. Behold I will do something new, now it will spring forth, will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert." (Isaiah 43:18-19)

It is not that I am to ever forget to cherish the people and events and places of my past that have been so precious to me. But I cannot live in the past. I cannot spend my time pondering what is gone to the detriment of what is present and what God still has for me.  When I am tempted to lament what I have lost and am losing,  I remember two small  but powerful words in Scripture that make all the difference in how I view this change in my life.

"But God"...

Throughout His Word, this little phrase reveals that there is a deeper plan and purpose that what we are experiencing on the surface.
Joseph, sold into slavery by his own brothers, many years later confidently says to them, "you meant it for evil, but God meant it for good."
The Psalmist in his despair cried out, "My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."
Peter proclaims to the men at the temple, "You killed the author of life, but God raised him from the dead." 
After writing a description  of the degenerate, sinful former state of the Ephesian believers, Paul gives them the amazing truth, "But God, who is rich in mercy, because of his great love for us, made us alive in Christ even when we were dead in transgressions---it is by grace you have been saved."

Like a nugget of gold gleaming in a cold, muddy stream of worthless gray rocks, this little phrase, but God,  is a glittering treasure to transform my attitude from loss to anticipation. 


 I remember "but God " has a good plan and purpose for me in this move, that he is already providing all that I need to not just survive but to thrive, that he is not just good all the time in the abstract but that he is good to me personally all the time, that he is writing my story as a part of a larger story and this move is just a new plot twist to bring him glory.
                                                                                  

                                                          &nbs



It matters where I put the "but" in my life.
t matters whether I look at the events and circumstances and problems of my life and say, "I know God loves me and has a good plan for me, but this............".
Or I say, " I know this is hard, scary, sad, unfair, etc., but God is good and loves me and is my strength and provider, my rock and my refuge, my friend and my shepherd...and the list continues and reminds me that He is holding onto me, even when I forget to hold onto Him!;                                                                                  &nbs
And so, I sort and sift and each morning I get up and open my  Bible to hear from the One who knows me best and loves me most. With open hands lifted before me, I ask him to take that which I need to let go and to embrace what he desires for me to hold onto. To give wisdom in discarding and keeping possessions, but mostly that I let go of wrong attitudes and unhelpful thoughts and to enable me to hold on to thanksgiving and joy in this season of change.


To remain thankful for the life I have had with my husband, my family, my friends and to anticipate new joy to come.
To believe that this new season is a gift He is giving me, to be unwrapped each morning in my new home.
To rejoice that I will have all of my family in one place and be able to enjoy all my grandchildren all the time, not just in scattered visits.
                                                                                

To choose to view this new state and climate as an adventure as well as a challenge...perhaps I'll learn to say "uff-da"" and "you betcha",  instead of "ya'll" and "bless her heart", to take "hotdishes" to church socials instead of "casseroles", and maybe I'll even embrace the snow and learn to ice skate or snowboard! My motto is going to be, "Adventure Awaits!"




Each morning, before I begin choosing what to hold onto and what to let go,  I sing this song as a commitment and an offering.
                 " Lord, I offer my life to you, everything I've been through, use it for your glory.
                  And Lord, I offer my days to you, lifting my praise to you, as a pleasing sacrifice.
                  Lord, I offer you my life.
                  Things in the past, things yet unseen, wishes and dreams that are yet to come true.
                  All of my hopes and all of my plans,  my heart and my hands, are lifted to you."
                                         (you can hear the entire song here.)




If you are also in a season of change, especially a difficult change, trust God in the middle of your story and believe that He is writing it for your good and His glory.  Change can be hard, but God is good and He is good all the time, yes, even during times of change.

Learning as I journey...thoughts on Grief, Grace and Glory

Come, sit a spell with me. The coffee is brewing, the banana bread is just out of the oven--don’t you love those aromas? Listen, the bird choir is trilling their morning praises. I’ve opened the blinds so we can see the daffodils on the hillside…do you need their cheerful promise that spring is really coming as much as I do?

 

Winter has been too long this year, like an unwanted guest lingering at the door, unwilling to say goodbye and take his leave. My grief has found a mirror in his gray skies, chill winds and bone deep cold.
                                                                                
Maybe you’ve felt it too? It may not be, like mine, from the loss of a beloved husband.

                                                           
It may be another loved ones death.
   Or perhaps a different kind of death---
        the severing of a close friendship or family relationship,
                      the fracturing of a church family,
                          the burying of a long cherished dream,
                                     the abrupt termination of a profession or ministry that provided identity, purpose...


There are many losses in life that produce real, deep and heartfelt grief.

If this is not you, if not now, maybe someone you love is in this season and you are walking it alongside them. Maybe these words will help you to help them.

Settle in, my friend, as I share what God’s grace is teaching me. In winter’s dark gloom, yes, but also in unexpected moments where grace and glory break through in soul stirring light as I make my way through this journey.                                         

         

I share only as a sojourner, still learning with feet unsure to walk this road on which God is leading me. I have only my experience and God’s truth through His Word to share with you, but I offer them in hopes to comfort you (2 Corinthians 1:3-4) and to encourage and build you up in the Lord.(1 Thessalonians 5:11) .

I want you to know that grief is not neatly confined to a list of stages, it doesn’t follow a predetermined time line , there is no clearly marked map for this journey and it can’t be reduced to a formula.

 Grief is unruly, it is unexpected, it breaks boundaries and surprises you with its intensity when you think it is under control, then holding back as if not there at all when you most likely would expect it to unleash its full power.
For example, I went through Bob’s birthday in January with barely a tear, but dissolved in wrenching sobs a few days ago when I saw a grandfather walking down the sidewalk beside his little grandson...something my precious grandchildren will never have again.
                                                                                   
    I want to you to know that I am learning that grief is as deeply individual as the person who grieves, as unique as the person who is being grieved and as singular as the relationship they shared.
    I cannot presume to assume that I know what another widow is feeling or what shape her grief will take or how she should walk through it.

    I cannot presume that, even though I have buried my sister, my mother, and my dad as well as my husband, that I have any special insight into how someone else should handle these same losses, or any other loss.
    Our shared grief means I can sympathize, even empathize, even know some of the depths of hurt they are experiencing, but we are all different, with different personalities and spiritual resources and needs, and we help by respecting each other in those differences as we journey forward in grief.

 My timetable is not yours,

        my reactions are not yours,

                     my reality is not yours.

                       What you may see as denial is not necessarily true.

                          What you may think is moving forward and coping well is not necessarily true.

  And my interpretation of your grief expression may not be true, either.
 Only God knows the heart of His children and He alone knows how and why and what each of us needs in our grief.  And He doesn't judge us for it.

We need to give each other a lot of grace in grief.

We best help one another by loving and praying and listening and grace gifting each other to walk freely through our journey without the weight of expectations or external timetables.
We need to validate to one another the reality of the loss without trying to hurry the process of grieving or minimizing the time it may take for someone to adjust to this new reality of life.

I need you to remember that my grief is a present reality, not a past event.  I need to remember this for other people, too. The sharp edges of grief may not continue to pierce as often or as deeply, but whether it is 8 weeks or 8 months or 8 years, you are forever altered by your loss and it is always a part of you.

I want to share that the path of grief is made more bearable when other people show up to walk with you.

Grief is lonely and isolating, but contact from friends ease the loneliness by acknowledging that your grief is deep and real and it hurts and someone else cares about that. 

 On days when the cord of grief wraps me tightly in its hold, a phone call or text  or facebook post from a friend loosens the stranglehold and lets me breathe, lets me laugh, lets me remember that Satan is wrong and I am not alone on this journey. The friends who have been present for me have been a lifeline.

It isn't what they have said, it's that they said something...they showed up.
Nothing hurts more than the silence of a friend when you are grieving.

I am learning that joy can exist alongside grief, and neither cancels the other.

In a scene from a recent episode of the T.V. show, This is Us, the mother of the family, Rebecca, is on her knees in her sons kitchen, cleaning up a broken dish. She has just helped deliver her first grandchild, and as her son Randall walks in and sees tears pouring down her face, he questions uncertainly, “Mom?” She looks up and answers, “This was one of the happiest days of my life”. Randall, confused, asks, ”So, these are happy tears?” Softly, she explains, “But your Dad wasn’t here. And for the rest of my life my happiest moments will also be sad ones because he won’t be here to share them”.  YES. THIS.

In the nearly 8 months since Bob went home to Jesus, I have had many, many moments of joy, of laughter, of pure fun and pleasure. But there is always the reality of the absence of his presence along with the joy.
                                                                   
In all these things, the most important thing I have learned is that God’s grace really is sufficient. His word assures us that He will give grace and glory and He does, yes, He does!
 He comforts (Psalm 119:76),  He restores (1Peter:5:10),  He provides( Philippians 4:19), He hears my cries, (Psalm 34:18),  He meets me in my loneliness (Deuteronomy 31:6) He calms my fears (Isaiah 43:1-5), He strengthens me when I grow weary from grief and loneliness (Isaiah 4-:28-31) He always understands me, (Psalm 139:1-6),  He quiets my spirit and restores my soul (Psalm 23) and lifts my mood (Psalm 92:4)
He gives more grace when it is needed most…through His Word, the Bible, through the gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit, through songs and hymns, through other people, through memories, through unexpected beauty in creation and art, in all these ways and more God’s grace embroiders my days with His glory.
                                                                         

                                                                          

I have been in conscious pursuit of God’s glory these past few months.  It began with a Bible study, Glory Chasers , by another widow, Dorina Gilmore. Then it continued with the book A Million Little Ways by Emily P. Freeman, and quotes and verses about God’s glory began leaping off the pages in my devotional reading. It has been the golden thread that God has woven through these winter days of grief, the shining strand of truth and hope and promise that has brightened griefs dark weave. I seek answers and insight...What does it mean to be created for His glory? How do I live that? How do I experience God's glory now? What will His glory be when someday I see it unveiled? How can God's glory impact my grief, my joy, my very life?  This quote captures me,  "Gods grace is His glory fully realized in us." (Mike Daniel)

And the more I receive of God’s grace and glory, the more I pray that I will be able to share that grace with others.

I have often failed to grant the grace to other people that I accept for myself.  I am so sorry.

If grief has taught me anything, I hope it has taught me to be more tender, more kind, more forgiving, more grace filled. I pray every day for this to be true in me.

We all are grieving something. Or we will be.

Let’s be grace gifters to each other in our grief. Let’s set each other free to grieve in our own way, in our own time, with love and support and grace to all. This is what I wanted to share with you. Now it's your turn....please comment and let me know what you are learning about grief or grace or glory....we are all sojourners together, all calling back encouragement to each other on the way!