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How do I come to terms with the idea that you or I, or Josh and others we love, were born to die. Not in the same way as Jesus, but in the fact that their story, their death can point people to Jesus. That my life, my story, can point people to Jesus - or at least as a Christian, it should - over and over again.
This is the concept I am working through today, after a day of feeling the depths of sorrow. Missing Josh so much and crying more than I wanted to. But something at church today caught my attention: the reminder, once again, of the length Christ went to and the depth of grief he experienced as he died on the cross for me, for this world. “He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.” - Isaiah 53:3a (NLT) Looking grief and heartache right in the face on a daily basis, isn't easy. Somedays, I am at a loss for how to feel, how to grapple with it all. I find myself wallowing in the heartache. But consistently, God sends shows up and reminds me He is here. And I realize that the fullness of Christmas joy is within arms length. While it still feels super annoying and unfair, and all the things, that Josh isn’t here with me today. There is hope. God is with me. The ultimate comforter in times of trouble. The ultimate Savior who lived and died so that I might see the fullness of life by trusting in Him. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. - John 3:16 What a gift this is. The perfect comfort for this season that at times feels dark or cold.
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My go-to music for most Christmases typically is, Elvis and Gene Autry. Both albums are fun and entertaining as they bring back memories that span decades. But this year, both albums seem a bit to peppy for jolly Ol’ Jenn.
Instead this year, I'm drawn to more melancholy melodies. The Lumineers soulful rendition of Blue Christmas seems the most fitting. I'll have a Blue Christmas without you I'll be so blue thinking about you Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree Won't mean a thing dear, if you're not here with me In this season, it’s hard to navigate my feelings. Am I blue, because it's been a couple months without Josh and this is just where I am? Or is it because the Christmas cheer all around seems to highlight the chasm of difference between joy and sorrow. It's probably both. Either way, I am in a season of fluctuating emotions. This Saturday started with an enjoyable coffee date with my sister-in-law Julie before she headed out of town, followed by relaxing and errand running. I even turned on some casual Christmas tunes and as I drove. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before the jolly tunes turned into tears which continued to fall all day long. “It is what it is.” Right? Josh would occasionally throw out this statement which made us laugh - I am not even sure why, but it did often fit the situation. Whether it was a complex theology question or just responding to something that was less than ideal. We'd agree, "It is what it is." Riding the emotional rollercoaster of grief, "Is what it is." There are times in this season, when I just need to cry. And it’s okay. Somedays, I feel more spirited and decide to add a little more Christmas decor to the house or go on an adventure - that’s okay too. I’m reading a book right titled, “It’s OK that You're Not OK,” which encourages those of us in grief to let it be what it is. And while, I know it’s good to keep taking steps forward in the grief process, it’s okay to not have it all figured out and to rest in that moment. In all honesty, I spent the whole day (Saturday) feeling sad. I embraced it by snuggling with my pups under warm blankets, with only the glowing lights of my blue tree on, and continued the holiday tradition of watching another Hobbit movie - in preparation for Lord of the Rings (a Christmas must). If you are feeling a bit blue this season too, it's okay. My encouragement for this day: Listen to the song below and say a prayer of thanks for the person you are missing so much. Maybe even just saying it out loud. "I miss you!" and let the tears fall.  My tree was already blue for this season but fits this week especially. Every day something sorrowful happens in our world - the loss of someone dear. Sometimes, it’s a senseless act of violence, or an unexpected tragedy. Sometimes, a decline in health that couldn’t be stopped. The list goes on . . .
This week, the community around me is aching after a local police officer was shot and killed while on duty. A large memorial is taking place today at the arena near my office. It’s a BIG deal and the grief of all of it weighs heavy on the community, the officer’s family, friends and many members of law enforcement especially. My heart is heavy too, and as I walked by the arena today, I prayed that God would comfort and surround the people there as they mourn and celebrate a life of this man, this leader who served our community selflessly. Earlier in the day, I heard someone say, “It’s a sad day for Fayetteville.” My immediate thought was, “But every day is sad for me.” Then, my next thought, “That feels selfish, this isn’t about me.” But is it? Is it selfish to think how this story intersects with my own grief process? My initial thought is true, most days without Josh are sad. And now, more people are sad because of another big loss that impacts them personally. I can feel the heaviness of their grief along with my own. My story of loss is different than this one, but the heartache remains similar, making it hard (seemingly impossible) to participate in another service or memorial. Yet, I still want to yell out to the family and this hurting community, “I see you and understand a piece of the heartache you are experiencing.” Yes, our family and friends had some time for goodbyes, more hugs and kisses, but we were never really ready for THAT day - the big one. I post this today, hopefully without selfish ambition, to say to those honoring and remembering Officer Stephen Carr, “I stand with you and I am praying you see God’s great love and comfort somehow in this.” #LightTheCityBlue413  More than 21 years ago, my mom passed away after battling breast cancer for two years. I was in college at the time and trying to figure out life, faith and why this would happen to a woman of such amazing character and faith. Fast forward 20 years, I am more grounded in my own story and have spent a lot of time working out my faith but am now processing new grief. Similar questions echo, why would THIS happen to a man of such amazing character and faith. I can say today that the loss of my mom at a young age shaped me in so many ways and gave me confidence and strength of character that might look different otherwise, yet the first question of “why” still remains unanswered. However, in this new season, an interesting thing is happening. I’m talking more. I’m sharing how I actually feel, leaning into it, not running from it. I’m discussing this grief journey with strangers and often with family and friends in real and raw ways. Talking about my own grief seems to give people permission to discuss their own. Grief that feels confusing, unfair and in some cases, grief that has been hidden away for months, years or even decades. It's truly fascinating, beautiful and intricate. This week, many thoughts have crossed my mind, as I've engaged in various conversations - some tearful, some deeper than expected. In the process, I've come to realize a few new things about the grief sharing process. Putting words to grief new or long-lasting is good. There is comfort that can be found in sharing our grief experience. Getting a call, message or text from someone to let me know they thought or remembered something special about my late husband is still a bit sad yet encouraging. It's good to know I am not alone in my memories of this person - that he is not forgotten. How could he be! These conversations strengthen relationships with friends and family in a whole new way. How we miss him varies, but we're doing it together in a way too. Giving an honest answer creates opportunity. You never know when your sharing your own story might give away to a diamond in the ruff - a conversation that has been needed for some time. This has happened several times in the past few months and has led to beautiful moments that offered hope and even a bit of healing within my own grief story new and old. Even talking about grief from long ago can bring clarification to a relationship that has been perhaps misunderstood because of past grief. Being honest is an option. Some people might think, “We’re talking about this too much.” Honestly, we probably aren’t, but this also doesn’t mean I have to talk about our feelings non-stop or at every holiday event or gathering. The challenge I'm putting forward, and am trying myself, is to be as honest as possible. Maybe it's too hard to be really honest because you might burst into tears in a less than ideal setting. An honest answer can be scaled depending on the time and place. I don't always answer, "I'm good!! but sometimes just "ok" - I also don't tell the person at the coffee shop drive-thru that Christmas isn't very fun this year. But I do tell friends, family and others that, "it's not easy, that I might cry." I share all my crazy messy, sometimes hopeful or doubtful thoughts, feelings and emotions with God - because I know He can handle it and He knows and loves me more than any person could. Finding ways to be honest about grief helps and takes time and practice. It may not always feel comfortable. I am definitely practicing, a lot. Practice makes perfect, right? Umm, maybe not but let's try anyway. There's not a perfect roadmap for this process as we keep grieving on and on. "You know when I rest and when I am active. You understand what I am thinking when I am distant from you." - Psalm 138:2 A few favorite memories . . . including my dad's family at his 70th birthday and the #brofrowvins (yep we have a friends hashtag) A simple question. "What's your name?"
A not so simple question, "Tell me something fun about yourself, about your family or hobbies?" A year ago, I could easily throw out some things like teaching music, hanging with my spouse, traveling, writing, etc. Today, while these things are still true, there's a whole new thread that taints my view of fun, especially the last two on the list. Why am I writing more or traveling around the country processing my life? Because of this dramatic event that has and is continuing to shape my heart, my life and my answers to basic questions. I had gotten comfortable with the basic, "How are you doing?" question, but new ones still catch me off guard. I didn't have an answer prepared for, "What do you do for fun..." And although, I wanted to run from the room as soon as the question was announced, I did manage to make it through the round-robin of introductions and stated that I have been writing all about my life, which has been hard this year, on a blog that people can read. I felt tense when talking and upon leaving had to spend a few extra moments processing, breathing and rambling in my car at my phone before feeling (slightly) recovered. As I've said said so many times, grief is a process and sometimes, I feel like I get tripped by grief in the middle of the simplest task. Kind of like how you sometimes trip over the smallest crack in the sidewalk while walking or running for no real reason and end up awkwardly landing on your knees or even worse your face (Yea, most of us have done that.). The summary of this post: It's not always easy to answer the easiest questions. And yea, we might trip and awkwardly fall flat during our audible answers - even if we are the only ones who notice it. #grievingon #grief  It's been a while since I woke to find myself almost immediately crying -- a few months really. Of course, I have shed random tears throughout the days and nights but not right after waking. Today, I found myself awake early (like 5:30, which is super early to me) and in the darkness of my bedroom, with slight blue light from the Christmas tree, the depth of how much I missed Josh hit.
I really miss him. These feelings had been building all week as I decorated for Christmas, put away the fall decor representing a season of radical change and continued holiday shopping this weekend. While tears leaked from here to there, a real good cry hadn't happened until this morning. In a recent article titled "What Grieving People Wish You Knew at Christmas," the author talks about our tears, "For most of us, grief tends to work itself out in tears — tears that come out at times we don’t expect. . . . But it makes sense that the great sorrow of losing someone we love would come out in tears. Tears are not the enemy. Tears do not reflect a lack of faith. Tears are a gift from God that help to wash away the deep pain of loss." While I agree that it makes sense for tears to come from deep sorrow, I am not sure these truly wash away the deep pain of loss. Of course, it is cathartic and tears help release the emotional pressure, but for me, the gift is knowing that God sees me fully and knows my heart during these heart-wrenching moments. That God is with me even in my darkest hour when I am crushed, because of the simple fact that I miss Josh so much it hurts. The tears are not washing away the deep pain as that doesn't seem possible at the moment. Sure, it might get easier over time, but there is a chance too that this ache might continue for a lifetime. A hurt that is healed only by a heavenly homecoming that is in God's timing. In returning to the material, there's a truth that stands out, "Tears are not the enemy. Tears do not reflect a lack of faith." Tears also do not mean that you (or I) are weak. As the unexpected tears fall, at home, in the car, at church or even in random bathroom stalls, there is hope and peace close by. There is love and comfort that comes from what some call the unexpected Jesus – a God who shows up when least expected or in the most unexpected way, just when we need him most. There is great joy in this knowledge even if it is hard to feel in each and every moment. |
Author: JennHi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer. Archives
May 2023
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