Grief marked by death is a transitional process. We can’t stay where we begin; we are meant to move toward what’s next. The last four years of my life have been more difficult than I could have imagined one could endure. Sixteen months ago when my mom died, I didn’t think my heart would ever reawaken to the goodness of God. Suddenly, I came to a crossroads. Would my pain move me towards Him or away from Him?
I believe the journey of this life intrinsically leads us to evaluate eternity. If you’re a Bible believer, you know the Word of God says we have eternity placed in our hearts. (Ecclesiastes 3:11) This leaves us seeking something more than we see directly in front of us. The idea of eternity in our hearts keeps us asking questions, evaluating the rhythm of our lives, demanding we find faith in something greater than the eye can see.
Life’s pressure can cause our vision to change, distorting our ability to find peace and comfort in the places we found them before disruption from grief. Do you know there’s actually an eye disease called Pigmentary Glaucoma that forces increased eye pressure leading to blindness? It even has the ability to change the color of the eye. I once read an article about the disease, and all I could think about was the relationship between intense pressure and blindness in a spiritual connotation. If we aren’t careful, grief forms deep stress in every area of our lives leading to dark depression, causing us to lose the ability to see Christ in the darkness of our situation.
For me, after losing my stepfather, brother, and mother in less than three years, it felt as if the light just shut off. The switch flipped suddenly, and that’s when the battle to once again find light began. I’m happy to say I’m winning the battle, but it’s not in my own strength. It’s in Christ’s. A long time ago I wrote a series entitled, “There is Purpose in Pain.” As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true. Pain has the ability to mold godly character. It forces us to figure out why we live and what we believe. Through this, I’ve learned my faith is unshakeable. I’ve needed time away from writing on a regular basis. Tears are still part of my everyday life, and some days it feels as if I’ve just walked away from watching the casket being lowered into the ground all over again. This doesn’t just go away. Anti-depressants help me. I still need them, and I still remind myself to breathe every day. I’m still fragile and fear hurt from others, because my heart is still skipping beats… figuratively and literally. Anxiety still tries it’s best to grip me and not let go. I’m still fighting. After all, I’m still human. In all this, Jesus is still with me, and He’s not going anywhere.
I haven’t written for a very long while. Holy Week seems to be an appropriate time to tell you what’s going on in my heart and life. I receive emails on a very regular basis from readers. You are all amazing support and a great source of encouragement! Thank you for not forgetting me, and please believe I’ve not forgotten you.
Psalm 16:11 says, “You will show me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Sitting at the right hand of the Father is Jesus. He is our pleasure forevermore and He will never leave us nor forsake us.
If you’re struggling through grief, it’s okay as long as you’re moving through it. Allow it to be transitional. Let the pain from your situation drive you to find your place in Christ. Let the story of your life strengthen your foundation of faith, and do not allow the pressure to change your vision. You have a purpose here, and there is purpose in your pain. Keep fighting the good fight. You and God, together, you’ve got this.
May this holy week lead you closer to Him.