It’s been nearly a thousand days and nights since my wife died. Yes, the Lord is with me. Yes, Hwa is with God. I just wish she were still with me.
In looking back on irretrievable loss, perhaps we can do a better job of capturing the here and now.
“I was equipped to function in the midst of crisis and to be a non-anxious presence, but nothing prepares you or equips you for the grief over someone who is dear to you.”
Amid all the smiles and laughter, if you’re grieving this Christmas, it’s OK. Your anguish has a role to play.
A high school graduation party for the daughter of a beloved friend who died 14 years ago evoked memories, sorrow, laughter and hope. But deep in the throes of sadness for those we lose, like Kyle Lake and Rachel Held Evans, is the reality of God’s stubborn insistence that life always follows death.
Good Friday isn’t just a set-up for Easter Sunday and the ham and new shoes that accompany that day. Good Friday is about grief. It’s about death and dying, pain and loss, emptiness and hopelessness. To beam the light in too quickly will render us unable to see.
In a book for new widows, author Ella Pritchard describes her experience of grief, recovery and “return to joy” in the months and years following the death of her husband, Lev, after 46 years of marriage.
When we use our imaginations, our grief and loss have the potential to become the silent, fertile seedbed for redemptive, life-giving deeds.
Over a decade ago, a travel company launched an advertising campaign declaring the third Monday in January to be the most depressing day of the year. Some scoff at the calculations used to pick “Blue Monday,” which would be Jan….