Uninhibited

Two weeks ago now, an incident occurred in which my grief suddenly burst open at time and place I wasn't expecting. Even though I had been steadily chipping away at it for a couple of months trying to accomplish that exact goal.

Then I spent several days just trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with it all. I listened to a series of sermons from Pastor Rick Warren. (edited to add, I heard it as a podcast but that link expired so here's a link to the original sermon series) It was a reminder of a lot of stuff I already knew, but needed to hear again just then. When something is so perfectly timed like that it makes me feel like I'm not alone. Some key points from one of them, loss is unavoidable but grief is a choice, any loss big or small is a reason to choose to grieve, grief is the only healthy response to loss and a rather pithy "revealing the feeling is the beginning of healing".

Another sermon included some practical application steps, and that's the kind of thing I really love. I mean, I like knowing the reasoning behind the actions and how things work, but mostly I really want to know what to do with that information. So here it is. List the losses I've never grieved. Identify the real loss. Spend time in lament. Ask Jesus to heal my broken heart.

So I took that action plan to my favorite creek. The best place for these things. I had been to that creek a week before and then skipped a couple opportunities to sneak out because there had been rain and it was colder. The following will include some things I wrote down in my journal that day.

this is not from that day, it's from last April

Today the creek is different. It's wider and running faster than before. It's muddier. Some of the debris {that had been blocking parts of it the week before} is knocked loose and carried away. It's colder and scarier. It doesn't feel as safe because I don't know where it might be deeper. Isn't that my life this week? My grief is cracked open, raw and muddy. My ability to love is wider and unexpectedly deeper in random spots.

I choose to grieve the family I needed and didn't have.

I choose to grieve the mother who abandoned me over and over again.

I choose to grieve the childhood I couldn't have because my parents were so broken.

I choose to grieve the childhood I did have.

I choose to grieve the loss of friends and community when we moved across the state.

I choose to grieve the many friends I only knew for a season.

I choose to grieve the "mother-in-love" that left me too soon.

I choose to grieve the loss of health that I've experienced.

I choose to grieve the many ways my chosen communities have failed me.

I choose to grieve the many many ways I've failed my husband, my children, my extended family, my friends.


I choose to grieve.

same creek, different view, September 2018

I spent time feeling each loss in turn as I thought of it. Plus a few others that I edited out of this post. Then I considered what the true loss is and I'm not sure I have an answer. I decided that's ok.

The next step is to lament. Lamenting is basically complaining to God. The Bible is chock full of laments because not only are humans full of difficult emotions and complaints, we're also 100% allowed and encouraged to talk to God about them. So I told Him how much I hurt and how much I wish these things had never happened to me and how lonely it feels. I asked Him to show me how to keep walking through this painful outpouring of previously repressed emotions without trying to stuff it back down.

Then I sat quietly listening to the creek rushing over the rocks in front of me. I watched some birds going about their weird birdy activities. And then I asked the question that I struggle with nearly every moment of every day "Did I do enough? Am I enough?"

And I heard a soft, gentle voice answer me deep in my soul.

Yes.

So I asked Jesus to please heal my broken heart, then I packed up and left the creek.

And Jesus? Please heal my broken heart.

Jesus heal my broken heart.