The Humility of Grief

Two doe-eyed darlings came to visit me yesterday, two little sisters I have delighted in since their birth. I search for their pictures on Facebook, entertain myself with their art work, and smile as they interpret the world around them through the lens of a most delightful and vivid imagination. But sometimes a child's imagination can trouble them, and that's what happened yesterday.



I looked up from my walker when they came in and smiled with delight at the sight of them; well, at least the half of my face that isn't sliding off my skull smiled. Unfortunately, my renegade eye had refused to close yesterday without being taped, and that was not a welcoming sight to these little ones. I tried to speak softly to them, to reassure them, but then there's this other problem, a paralyzed face makes one sound slightly like a witch. I could only imagine; they probably felt they had encountered the hag from Snow White, and at any moment I'd offer them an apple. These precious little girls are so kind and well behaved.  They just stood there enduring this fright and trying desperately to understand how they were to respond.



By eight o'clock I was exhausted and in pain, so I took a whole pain pill and crawled into bed. Two hours later I was jolted awake by an ache in my heart. But there are some hurts that are not cured by pills, and this was one of those. Sometimes the correct response to a situation is to simply grieve. To grieve is to be humble, to be real, to accept both the gifts of joy and sorrow.



Part of the humility of grief is to admit that you need help. I didn't cry alone. I asked my husband to sit with me. My friend, Karen, who took two weeks off to come from Indiana to take care of me, gently wept beside me. I am also very blessed to have four brothers and four sisters, so I sent them a group text and asked if they would walk with me through this valley of tears.



There are things in life that can only be understood through the lens of eternity. And there is a special blessing that God gives to those whose heart is set on pilgrimage, the understanding that we are not home yet. We live in a broken and hurting world. But because of God's great love He sent His very own Son in the person of Jesus to be the Savior and Redeemer to this broken world. Jesus came with an invitation to His Kingdom where sorrow and weeping will be no more.



My prayer, as I sojourn through the valley of weeping, is that God would transform this place of tears into a place of refreshment for those who are following behind me on this journey home. I am so looking forward to the promise my Heavenly Father gave me, "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."(Revelation 21:4) But until that day I'll journey on, pausing every now and then along the way to shed a tear.