From The Editor: Holy Grief

I think that grief is something sacred — something messy, raw, beautiful, and important — something holy that we are invited to participate in as God’s children.

Grief is unavoidable. It’s a natural part of the human experience. Even those who have not yet felt the soul-wrenching loss of a loved one have at least felt regret or disappointment at some point in their lives.

When I was around six or seven, my extended family planned to get together for a large Christmas party. We drew names for a gift exchange, and I can’t even remember who I drew or what I selected to give them. What I do remember is that a beautifully wrapped gift with my name on it quietly appeared on our fireplace mantle one day, about a week before the party. What could it be? It didn’t say who it was from. I guess I would have to wait and find out later.

Or maybe… maybe I should just pick it up. Yeah, I should pick it up and see if there was any other information to be found.

Nope, no name other than mine. It was a small, but not tiny box, rattled a bit when shaken, and it really was beautifully wrapped. I wonder…

Maybe this was a sweet surprise for me, not a Christmas gift after all. Maybe this was meant for me to open when I found it. After all, it was not under the Christmas tree. I would just take a quick peek and see.

Unwrapping it revealed a lovely little plastic gumball machine, complete with colorful candies that would dispense as desired. I had never asked for anything like this, but I loved it so much!

That’s when my dad came in and found me sitting on the floor, surrounded by scraps of wrapping paper, holding my secret present meant for the family gift exchange. While packing the lovely little blue and yellow machine back in its box, he tersely explained that my sister drew my name for the exchange, and this was my special Christmas gift. He had my mom rewrap it and told me I would just have to open it again at the party.

About a week later at the party, I opened my gift, and there was the beautiful little gumball machine. Only this time, I wasn’t excited at the sight of it.

Why was I the only kid who didn’t get to be surprised by my gift? Everyone else glowed with excitement when opening their presents. I was the only one who sat quietly disappointed, already knowing beforehand what was meant to be a joyful surprise.

In that moment, my little heart grieved. I regretted my actions which led to my disappointment. I felt the loss of something that was meant to be so special and bring such joy. It was a profound experience, even for someone so small. This taste of grief over the loss of possible joy taught me the importance of patience in the anticipation of promised good things.

Flash forward to January 9, 2019. I received a phone call that altered the way I walk through the world today. Maybe you’ve gotten one of these — a call that leaves you sobbing and hyperventilating on the floor of your closet, unable to form a coherent thought past a broken, “What??”

In the depths of my grief over the sudden loss of my mother, God led me to Isaiah 38:15.

“But what can I say? He has spoken to me, and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul.”

After reading this verse, I had a sudden epiphany: my absolutely devastating grief was a holy gift from God.

God Himself had caused this horrible pit of twisting emotion within me, and it was actually a beautiful gift. Let’s break this down.

Grief is an emotional, mental, and physical reaction to the loss of something. The deeper that something was loved, the more desperate the resulting grief will be. The fact that I was so utterly devastated by the loss of my mother is proof that my love for her was profoundly deep.

And this was God’s generous gift to me: this gaping hole inside me. A wound whose edges have since healed, though the pain will never completely fade. This sore spot in my soul is an achingly beautiful daily reminder that I was loved fully, and that I loved fully, a painful souvenir of this most significant relationship.

And the understanding that God has allowed me to be this broken, to always carry this aching proof of deep love in my life, is humbling. “I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul.” Thank you, Jesus, for the gift of this grief.