Taste of Grace

This past week I had a visitor I hadn’t seen in a while. Time and distance kept us apart. Then it arrived, slowly entering my space and taking up too much room. Grief came back to visit. I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t get the memo. There was a strange familiarity and the heaviness that came with it.

In my early months of grieving, I discovered some tools to help me and found I had to return to my toolbox and come up with a plan to manage this recent episode.

First, I sat in it and felt it. I wanted to run away, distract myself, or numb it, but I stayed there.   Then I cried. Then I texted a friend. She also experienced the tragic loss of her husband. My friend understood. Acknowledging my grief and allowing myself to feel it led me to take action. 

The next morning a remnant of grief remained, like a dark cloud. I began to come up with a plan to manage it. I needed people, rest, and exercise. As it was Sunday, I went to church. Then I came home and took a nap. After my nap I loaded my bike in my son’s truck, I drove down to the bay, and took a bike ride.

However, something came unexpected. When I put the key into the ignition, the radio was playing a song. I knew the words by heart. It was a song that I played repeatedly in the first months after my husband died. The promise in the song was that God would “Do It Again”; that His promise still stands, “Great Is Your Faithfulness”. Listening to the song brought a comfort as I recalled the hope it gave me.

As I continued to listen, I sensed a fresh gift of grace in that moment. God can do again what only He can do. God gave me a glimpse of the grace that has sustained me and continues to do so. There was a taste of grace in my grief. Grace entered that moment in the midst of my grief. Grace offered me hope that I was seen and heard. God saw my tears. Psalm 56:8, “Are they not in your book?” God records every one of them. My grief allowed grace and hope to come into the same space.

Grief will visit me again, no doubt. Like this visit, I can let it arrive and make room to see what else it brings. A space where grace will come along, reminding me God sees me, hears me, and knows me.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

Moving Through

There’s a weather pattern in San Diego that is called May gray. Mornings are filled with clouds and sometimes fog that stays around for a few hours until the sun begins to break through. Recently, there was a day when the sun finally came out at 3:00 in the afternoon.

May gray seems like an appropriate description for grief. Sometimes it feels heavy. We can’t see beyond it. It seems like it will always be like this. Questions arise that doubt if we will ever see the sun again.  

As we move through our grief, it becomes clear that there is no map, no GPS, no book, and no guide in our grief. Our journey is unique and individual to us.

We don’t get over it. We don’t go around it. We move through it.

Moving through grief is a process and journey. We will not arrive at a destination. There is no stop that tells us we are done. We loved someone. The love doesn’t stop because they are gone. In fact, our love continues to grow for our loved one who is gone.

Henri Nouwen said, “When you have loved deeply, that love can grow even stronger after the death of the person you love. That is the core message of Jesus.”

The love we had tethers itself to the grief we experience. Living with “what is” and remembering “what was” moves us through the days ahead as we cling to hope for today and the days ahead. 

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download