This is my story… of grief & loss.

This blog post is part of a series of posts reflecting on 2023 and inviting us all to consider the story God continues to write in our lives each day. See all the posts in this series here.

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To be honest, this is a part of my story I don’t really want to write. However, I wouldn’t be accurately telling the story of 2023 without covering this part at least briefly.

Back on the morning March 4 I published a blog post called “Conflicting Calls.” It was all about seemingly contradictory ways of God, the ways He promises that His yoke is easy and His burden is light AND that a lot of things happen in life that feel the opposite of easy or light. I had been wrestling with this concept for a few weeks and was grateful for the start of Spring break to finally find some rest. I had no clue that struggle was about to get even more challenging.

I hit “publish” on that post that Saturday morning and headed off to meet a friend for breakfast. I never imagined that within the hour I’d be back on campus in “work mode” navigating the reality with our team that one of our students had died. Jesus’ yoke didn’t seem too easy or light in that moment. There were so many tasks to be done, people to be cared for, & responsibilities to attend to, that it wasn’t until the next day that the grief of it all actually hit.

But then it came in waves. First, the next morning, upon seeing my friends at church. Then later that Sunday night when another friend picked me up to go somewhere. When I didn’t really want to go back home after, she took me instead to her house and we sat and drank tea and talked about books. These friends–their knowing glances, their prayers, their words, the way they held me as I cried–I’m forever grateful for the way they gave space for my grief in that moment even if it was minimal in comparison to those that new him best. As grief does, it didn’t stop after those first few days for anyone involved, but has weaved its way through our stories for the months since.

Some of the grief and loss I experienced this year is obvious and understandable, like the situation I just described. But other pieces of grief are more ambiguous, a little harder to nail down and describe.

Grief over things that didn’t happen.

Grief in situations where taking the risk to love and care for others ended up being costly.

Grief when students had a chance to choose abundant life, but made another choice instead and found themselves in tough situations because of it.

Grief in giving up some of my dreams, even if it was to pursue other ones.

Grief for friends walking through loss, divorce, heartbreak, disease.

Grief over my sin.

Grief over the ways it sometimes feels like Satan is winning.

Grief in transitions with friends who moved away.

Grief at the brokenness in the world around us.

The hardest part about writing this kind of post is that this year isn’t unique. It isn’t unique to me and it isn’t unique to this year. While obviously some years are “better” or “worse,” grief is just a part of this life between two gardens. The perfection of Eden shattered and the Revelation garden not yet realized, what do we do right here in the middle?

As odd as it sounds, I think we celebrate. Earlier this week I heard a podcast about the power of celebrating in the dark and I think they were on to something. Maybe as we head toward Christmas you’re not feeling the celebratory “Joy to the World” and “Hark the Herald Angel Sing” kind of vibes. However, Jesus coming as a baby in Bethlehem all those years ago is truly a reason to celebrate. Because of that event, His life here on earth, and His death and resurrection, we can trust that all the sad things will one day fade. He is the light in the darkness. He is the hope in the grief. He is what holds us. And that is worth celebrating.

It’s true that until Jesus comes again, our stories will continued to be filled with grief, but that is not the end of our story. Revelation 21 reminds us that a day is coming when God will put an end to all the death and sorrow and He will personally look us in the face, lift His hand, and wipe away every tear from our eyes.

Come, Lord Jesus, come soon!