Tidings of Comfort and Joy

The title of today’s post comes from the Christmas carol, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” The familiar words are part of one of the oldest Christmas songs, dating back to the 1600s. Throughout the entire song, come words of hope declaring the Christmas story.

What does it look like to experience “comfort and joy” when we are grieving? The holidays are hard. Grief is magnified while our minds recall memories of our loved one. It can’t be helped. We loved, and so we grieve.

Recognize grief is coming and allow it. My grief during the holidays comes a week before the actual holiday. Anticipating the day and the empty chair starts like a silent roar, and so I let myself notice it, feel it, and cry. Grief needs time, and it needs “set aside time.”

Memories become a reel in our heads, recalling gatherings and special ways we celebrated Christmas. Take the time you need to mourn, cry, lament, and feel. If you want to go to the cemetery, or to your husband’s favorite restaurant, the beach, or the mountains. Go and scream in your car or the shower. Pour out your heart to the Lord…let Him comfort and collect all your tears in a bottle and record each one as it says in Psalm 56:8.

Michael Card, author of A Sacred Sorrow, says, “We all carry deep within ourselves a pressurized reservoir of tears. It takes only the right key at the right time to unlock them. The lock can be forced, or the unlocking can happen prematurely, to our ruin. But in God’s perfect time, through lament, when these tears are released, they can form a vast healing flood.” 

Comfort comes in the moments of expressing our grief. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted. We can know “comfort and joy” this Christmas, as we celebrate Immanuel, God with us.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

Grief Warning

When my son was in college in Oklahoma, I recall a phone call where he said, “The tornado siren is going off, Mom, and I have to go into the underground shelter.” I said, “Okay,” and immediately turned on the Weather Channel to see where the tornado was going. After an hour or so, he called me back and said all was good and he was okay. It was just a warning. The tornado went the other way.

With a major loss of a loved one, we are not given a warning siren on where or when grief will swoop in and catch us by surprise. Grief comes in uninvited.

However, the holidays come with a loud megaphone and constant reminders that announce and parade grief in capital letters. We are gobsmacked both quietly and loudly.

Thanksgiving gently enters, and we find ourselves with an empty chair at the table. The ache starts, and the tears flow. Memories start a reel in our head with the recipe that our person loved or cooked in their own special way.

My husband’s specialty was smoking the turkey on the BBQ. I would go to the store, find a suitable turkey, call him, and report the weight to see if that would suit him. In his list of ingredients, he said to get a bottle of Coca-Cola. He didn’t drink it; he soaked the turkey in a brine overnight that contained the bubbly, dark liquid. The end result after 8 hours on the BBQ was a delicious, moist bird that we all enjoyed. The smile on my husband's face reflected the joy he had in serving others with his culinary skills.

Memories are the gift our loved ones left us. They come wrapped in tears as we reflect on what we had. And always, we can be both grieving and grateful. The two are not incongruent, but strange companions in our journey. This Thanksgiving, may you experience the remembrance of what you once had and the gratitude of what you still have. Happy Thanksgiving.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download