Little by Little

In my backyard, I have two 55-gallon rain barrels that collect the rainwater after each storm. I regularly fill up my watering can from the spout on the rain barrel to water my plants. The process gives me a glimpse of how I acquired hope during the intense season of grief I had after my husband suddenly died.

It wasn’t a visible process, but over time I began to see that hope was emerging. It came through different sources. After a hike or walk on a beautiful day on a trail or path, I sensed glimpses of hope. When I went to my Bible and found a verse reflecting my pain and giving me comfort, I was given a bit of hope.

Psalm 119:49, (NIV) says, “Remember your word to your servant. You have given me hope through it.” God’s Word was and is a continuous source of hope to me.

When other people shared their story and loss, I would come away with some hope. They made it through and were moving forward in their journey. Knowing I was not alone was huge in giving me hope. 

Hope began to accumulate and I noticed how it made me feel. The heaviness of my grief was overwhelming at times. Hope offered me a chance to take a break and breath. My grief was still there, but I could move forward and not stay stuck.

As I look back, I saw that hope came in small amounts when I needed it the most that first year. I am now able to offer hope to others as they take their grief journey. Like rainwater, we can collect hope, little by little and recycle it to others on the same path. 

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

Out of the Ashes

Recently, as I drove through Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park in central California, I saw the remains of a fire that took place in October 2021. (photo above)

Going from the healthy trees into the damaged trees, the charred landscape was stark and grim.  But something else was happening in the ashes. I learned that there are benefits to the forest when a fire occurs. I googled and discovered that some plants actually require fire to move along their life cycles. The “seeds from many pine tree species are enclosed in pine cones that are covered in pitch, which must be melted by fire for the seeds to be released.” (National Geographic Society)

It occurred to me that the devastation from our grief has brought out some seeds that are producing new things in us. The words in John 12:24 (NIV) remind us of this principle:

“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

The death of our loved one changed us and the landscape of our lives.

A transformative process is taking place following our loss. The grief that we will never get over leads to growth in ways we may not see yet. The term “post-traumatic” growth comes to mind.

In a recent column titled, “Some People Turn Suffering Into Wisdom”, NY Times columnist, David Brooks observes, “Scholars differ over how common post-traumatic growth is. But I’m often around people who have this unwanted wisdom, that attitude of “tragic optimism” that Viktor Frankl describes, who see their lives as redemption stories.” 

Like the pine cone seeds that are released when melted by fire, so our grief unearths hidden parts of us. The journey through grief yields evidence of not just something that is lost, but something that is found.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download