The Grip

I recently came across this beautiful quote by John Piper:

"Occasionally weep deeply over the life you hoped would be.  Grieve the losses.  Then wash your face.  Trust God.  And embrace the life you have."  

These words have saturated my thoughts during the last couple of weeks.

What does it actually look like to grieve?   Whether the death of someone dearly loved, a job lost that gave security, a perplexed place in life that has caused fear and anxiety, or a relationship broken that seemed steadfast, whatever the difficulty may be, grief can grip with a determined hold, and the question is not if we will face the pain of loss but when we experience grief's embrace, what do we do with its firm hold?

Let grief remain for a time.  

So my husband has been very patient with an unbelievable roller coaster of emotion after losing my mom:  tears over salmon that was just so good (I hadn't been out to dinner for a while), more tears over mom's jewelry which led to tears over the fact that I don't have jewelry to pass on to my own kids....which led to tears over the fact that I just don't really like jewelry.  

Good grief.  Kind of literally.  

Then there has been the anger over making school lunches (But then let's just be honest, school moms, this is not a seasonal anger.  You know what I'm talking about.)  Never-the-less, my emotions have been larger than life. And my poor husband has been a trooper with it all, not asking me to buck up and think straight, but instead he has allowed me to remain in the grip of grief for a while knowing that sometimes it has broad and unexplainable effects.

I've shared with a few friends that I'm beginning to understand the Old Testament mourning period.  After mourning for a week or so in our day and age, folks innocently start popping their heads around the corner saying in all various ways:  you good now?  you ready to get back to the good old daily grind?  They only cautiously pop their head around the corner, though, just in case tears start flowing over the jewelry they may be wearing - it's best to have a plan for a fast getaway from a griever.  I mean, can you blame them?  I'd draw out my getaway plan and put it securely in my pocket if I was confronted with someone crying over salmon.

But in the Old Testament folks would mourn for weeks and months at a time and it wasn't uncommon to find them grieving in very public ways:  ripping their clothes, wearing sackcloth instead of regular clothing, and...removing all their jewelry.

Because even folks in the OT had jewelry to pass on to their kids.

Whatever.

And they wept...even hiring professional mourners who would wail loudly on their behalf for hours or days (Ex. 33:4; 2 Sam. 14:2).

My tears over salmon and jewelry just don't seem so over the top in this context.  There is something to John Piper's words when he says to occasionally weep deeply over the life you hoped would be.  Grieve the losses.  I don't always do this well.  In the past it's been much easier to let out a good cry then quickly sweep the rest of the deep emotions under the rug in order to get downstairs and make school lunches (stupid school lunches).

But let the grief grip.  

Being decidedly honest before Jesus and crying out smilier words as the Psalmist when he says, "My eye wastes away because of grief... " is good and right and it's what ultimately leads to the loosening of the grip.  He is the only answer to the grip.  Jesus Himself knew grief beyond grief.  He was acquainted with grief, Scripture tells us.  He was familiar with it, accustomed to it, and He knew it well.   Sit for a time in the embrace of the One who understands grief, empathizes with it, and loves us in the midst of it.  Drink deeply of His grace and mercy.

And then allow Jesus to loosen the grip.

There is grace in grieving, but the grief shouldn't debilitate us indefinitely; rather, our grief should motivate us to move forward with unabashed trust in Jesus.

And this is exactly what Piper is reminding us to do:  "...wash your face.  Trust God.  And embrace the life you have."


It's not necessarily a quick transition, but after sitting in grief's grip for a time, there is something refreshing about standing, washing off the tears, and embracing the here and now.  I'm learning that kids help in pulling the here and now scene in front of my eyes when I'm having trouble walking forward.

This embracing of my current life happened for me on April fools day, and it involved my youngest monster...I mean child... who had woken at the crack of dawn in anticipation of the practical joke she couldn't wait to play on me.

I had just finished working out and was standing in the living room looking intently at my mom's rings and began deeply weeping (I'm telling you...there's something about the jewelry...).  I walked into the bathroom for tissues and discovered that an entire tube of toothpaste had been squeezed out and spread from the top of the sink to the bottom.  My white, porcelain sink was CREST blue.

Holy mad momma.  Because how was I supposed to remember it was April fools day?

Now Lily and I were both crying.  I was crying over rings and she was crying, and I quote, "because you are mad at me for squeezing out the whole toothpaste!"

Um...yes.

I sat on the floor and the "here and now" came rushing at me with force.  My baby girl wanted to play a joke.  She wanted to see me laugh.  It was April fools day and although it was the worst possible joke to play on a mom on a school morning...when the lunches weren't even made yet....she just wanted to see me laugh.

So, I sat on the floor and laughed.

And I tried to join in the fun by playing my own practical joke later in the day (not my forte, admittedly):

"Mom, I need to teach you how to do jokes.  That was a bad one."  

And there's my reality.  There's my here and now.  Hello sweet blessings that I've been given in this life; there are too many to count.

Stand up.  Walk forward.  Wipe the tears.  Loosen grief's grip and continue to hold on tightly to Jesus.

His is the only grip we ultimately need.