“Lay your head down tonight
Take a rest from the fight
And don’t try to figure it out
Just listen to what I’m whispering to your heart
‘Cause I know this is not
Anything like you thought
The story of your life was gonna be”
///
In a few short months, it will be 2 years since my mom passed away. I’ve been asked what it looks like to grieve her while on the World Race. So here’s a peek into my second year of grief.
My niece went to the zoo and when they got to the alligator exhibit, she turned to her dad and asked “Can you lift me up a little bit so I can see it?”
It struck me; that’s me with God.
When things don’t really make sense in the middle, “can you lift me up a little bit so I can see it?” So I can see what you’re doing God? because right now, from my limited perspective, I just can’t see it.
I knew God was going to use it, that He was already using it to transform me and the rest of my family. But I wanted to see more. Lift me up a little bit, Lord, so I can see it?
I’ve been gone now for almost 10 months. Looking back with a purely objective perspective, I think that might look a little crazy, leaving only days after the “1 year mark” of mom’s passing. But I know that this was exactly the Lord’s plan. This was just the “lift” I needed, as I embarked on Year 2. God has lifted me up, like any good Dad, so I can see a little better the impact of loss on my life and how He is purposing it for the Kingdom.
The View from Abba’s Arms
Most of the time, life feels pretty normal. Maybe sometimes it’s even easier than normal, because I am constantly in new places, where memories of her are triggered less often than at home. But there are still those moments, when I hear a song she loved, when I see her favorite candy in a store, when I see a mother hug her child, that my throat closes up and my eyes burn for a moment.
I talk about her with my friends here, but I find that also makes me a little sad, because none of them know her and now never will, aside from the stories I tell them. But I feel incredibly loved by those who surround me. They ask me questions about her, and about grief, and allow me to tell my story, and each time I feel a little release of pain and a little rush of peace. Letting it hurt is healing. And above all, they simply remember; remember that I’ve been through this hard thing, remember that it still affects me. For some reason, that’s one of the most comforting things people can do for me.
This journey has been life changing. I am experiencing so much, seeing so much of God’s beautiful Creation. And each step has been bittersweet, as pretty much all joyful things are now. I’m growing, but my mom can’t see the woman I’m becoming. I don’t get to share any of this with her, which I know people say that she can see it all from heaven, but honestly, that doesn’t really help. Because what I miss is getting to tell her, to see her light up, be proud of me, hug me, and love me. Even if she can still see it all, I don’t get to see her end of receiving it. I know that sounds selfish, and maybe it is, but it’s a very real part of grief for me. Every high and every low, I yearn to talk to her.
One of the favorite things I can see from this “lifted” place is how God is using this story to impact the Kingdom. On the plane ride to Launch, my story bonded me with the woman next to me, and I got to hear her story and pray for her. I got to empathize with my squadmates who have also experienced loss and teach others what it’s like. I got to help a woman in Vietnam be a friend to a grieving loved one. I’ve comforted my friends who also have parents battling cancer. In a restaurant in Bulgaria, a woman approached me when she overheard me tell my story to my friends; her mother had just been diagnosed, and she let me in to comfort her own broken heart. A combative woman in Romania who had just lost her son let me hug her and pray for her after I shared about my own experience with loss. Everywhere I turn, I have the chance to comfort others who are experiencing their own grief. I have not been afraid of pain and brokenness, and my own heart now has so much more compassion for the hurting.
Now, as the Race is in it’s final stretch, I find a new obstacle in grief coming my way. Mom won’t be here for this transition back home. As I think of home, I realize it still isn’t going to fully feel like “home” because she won’t be there. Every new transition in life now will be tinged with a little sadness. She’s the person I would go to in a time like this, when I’m making a lot of big decisions, when I’m grieving one season while excitedly preparing for the next.
Overall, I see that grief is my own personal “thorn in my side.” (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). Sometimes, it still hurts just as bad as it did at the start, because I still love her just as much as I did when I had her. Neither the love nor the pain will lessen in intensity. Rather, it will be the thing that keeps me weak and dependent on the Lord, and therefore, keep me strong. Because I’ll never move on from loss, just move forward with it.
The song at the beginning of this blog describes this beautifully. I’m only at the beginning of this “Glorious Unfolding.” It describes how God’s plan is to show the world (and our hearts) His glory, grace, and deep, beautiful, unfailing love. I’m seeing God do that all around the world. I’m seeing how He can love people through me, who are so very different, but the same. We all just want to be comforted when we hurt. We want to feel seen, understood, and loved. And sitting with people in the hard stuff, have been some of my favorite moments on the Race, and in my own grieving process. I’m seeing a little bit of that Glorious Unfolding now. I’m seeing the Lord give it all meaning, give it all purpose. The end isn’t closing in, it’s only the beginning.
What’s your own story that’s unfolding right now? Is there something that you’re pleading with Him to take away, yet it still remains? Ask Him instead to lift you up, so you can see His Glorious Unfolding of the pain.
///
“And this is going to be
The Glorious Unfolding
Just you wait and see
And you will be amazed
You’ve just got to believe
The story is so far from over
So hold onto every promise
God has made to us
And watch this Glorious Unfolding
…
And the story has only begun.”
The Glorious Unfolding by Steven Curtis Chapman
Happy Mother’s Day! Here’s a picture of my mom with her grandson. They were thick as thieves!
