I heard this great analogy recently from Jennifer Senior from her book, “On Grief,” that when a group of people all experience the same loss, it’s like being dropped on the top of a snowy mountain with broken legs and being told to make your own way down.
- Anyone who has grieved the loss of a loved one—as a family—will know this to be true.
- Some people stay on the top of that mountain for a long time.
- Some people start making small incremental movements and slowly work their way down.
- Some people lean on others to get down faster together.
Each person experiences grief in their own way.
One important indicator is to ask ourselves what the purpose of grief might be. A frequent response after the death of a spouse might be, “I want to feel the pain because it makes me feel like the love was real.” Alternatively, someone may say, “My spouse would have wanted me to grieve.” I can’t help but notice, in conversations like this, how quickly we can find ourselves controlled by guilt.
The key is that we are not controlled by grief—no matter what it feels like. We get to choose the way we grieve.
As Christians, we have the opportunity to grieve with hope.
Take this passage from 1 Thessalonians 4:13:
But we do not want you to be uninformed about believers who have died so that you will not grieve like people who have no hope.
But what does that look like practically?
You want to commemorate the person or thing you lost.
You want to take a small step outside your comfort zone.
You just want to do one small loving act for someone else today.
It’s just sitting and listening to birds again for the first time in years.
Years ago, my mom was in a grand hall preparing to give a talk on forgiveness. As she was heading to the stage, she noticed a woman limping with an ailment that looked similar to how she looked before her recent knee replacement. When she approached her and began encouraging her pain, the woman quipped, “It’s not my knee.” My mom was puzzled but quickly approached the stage to deliver her talk. When she was finished, she made her way down the stairs and was met by the same woman. Strangely, she noticed she was no longer limping in pain. It was then that they engaged in a conversation, and what the woman said will forever stick with my mother: “Ellen, you noticed my limp earlier. Well, the day my husband left me, I put a stone in my shoe, which reminded me of the woman he left me for. While you were speaking today, I took that stone out of my shoe and forgave them.”
The pain in her eyes was truly gone. She was free.
It is so easy to say, “I will never get beyond this place,” when you feel trapped in grief. Today, you might feel like that is true, but when you are ready, a “yes” or an “I can” means a world of difference. It is when you accept the step that you can move toward healing.
A “yes” can sound like this:
“Something is possible.”
“Something can come out of this.”
“Forgiveness is possible.”
“I want to open myself up to a new possibility.”
In the Garden of Gesthemene, Jesus asked for the cup of suffering and death to pass him, but eventually, he gave His “yes” to death. With that yes to grief—to death—he was able to then experience the glory of resurrection.
What does it look like for you to come down the mountain today? What is one intentional action you can do with your grief today? What is one small “yes” you can give?