This is all just words.
No story. Nothing to tickle or titillate. Nowhere is a story a help to some other than when it’s told and told so well as to be left there, as it is, to be experienced, to elicit unjudged feelings.
These words here are but an attempt to recapitulate the concept of loss and to postulate the idea that there is purpose in loss. Further, that loss endured is life-giving, even if that’s your search yet you’ve not found it yet. Still, by faith, you’re compelled forth into an impossibility that God has echoed, somehow; that which cannot be ignored, as real, though still unreal.
It’s coming, if it hasn’t come already. It tarries for nobody. It moves without warning and stuns us, bringing us to a depth of life we never thought quite hellishly possible. Loss. It comes. Don’t be anxious.
Grief begins when love ends, yet in endurance emerges persistence, grit, honesty, and brokenness. Faith, in one word. All because something wonderful ended, such that something more wonderful could begin; a journey into the rawness of self without pretentious masquerade.
Grief introduces us to a journey we would never take of our own volition; a pilgrimage taken alone, no matter the company of friends; a sojourn where God calls life to a screeching halt.
And, all that said, traversing grief, true to your reality, dependent on God alone, unafraid of emotional meltdowns, learning to feel broken, accepting enervating despair that feels permanent, experiencing joy through a sepia filter of sorrow, qualifies the sojourner for a copious salvation, a great compensation of God, which is faith’s reward for trust.
One possession grief leaves us with is the gift of remembrance.
© 2016 Steve Wickham.