Wow wow wow. God is so good. How heartbreaking and delightful at the same time. I empathize with this duality. And I love your quotes on hope. Thank you so much for sharing. This was so beautifully written.
Thank you Diamonde! What makes me most excited to write these stories is knowing how it brings up reminders of the other beautiful stories that people keep dormant. Interested to hear about your stories.
Absolutely! I was just listening to a sermon the other day about the importance of seeing beauty in dark moments and while that can be incredibly difficult at times, I have found beauty in grieving the mother I am estranged from. It wasn’t until our estrangement that I realized how much I depended on her for validation and for my confidence. Now over a year later, I like this version of myself much more than I did before. I am validating myself and depending on God much more than I ever have. Which I’ve needed to do any way. I can see much clearer now and what I see is beautiful.
One of things I’ve learned in my journey after losing my dad in 2017 is to grieve someone correctly we must do the slow work of putting the true story or truest version of the story back together.
The true story of who they were, the true story of the real depth of our relationship, they true story about what I felt when I was in their presence and the true story of where the narrative was going whether that person was still alive today.
Fantastical remembering and fantastical imaginations only deepens the grief and pain at times when we are being unrealistic about what the relationship was meant to achieve in its living state and what it could’ve achieved had it continued beyond its expiration date.
We must be honest with ourselves and ask ourselves often, “Did that actually happen?”, “Do I actually believe that?”, “WHY am I crying? Is it for things in me that have died that have been triggered by this seismic loss or is it for the person whose face is now attached to my grief?”
To hold our grief well we have to be honest and be willing to see the dying person again in a new light, as they were before death got a hold of them, and before we laid our expectations on them for who they were meant to be to us. Who are we to say who someone was meant to be to us and for us?
Grief feels more painful when we’ve equated the dying persons legacy to death and forget that there are living parts of their story that are still being written to as ours is being written without them in the form we remember them in.
I’m still learning to turn my dad’s voice down at the back of my head because even if he was alive, sometimes I wish he didn’t have an opinion about the choices I made. Sometimes we can only amount to the fullness of the person we were meant to be when we learn to leave father and mother in order to submit to a deeper calling.
Sometimes grief is a rite of passage leading us to becoming who we are and we’re always meant to be, and sometimes the people we love consume a God-size amount of our attention, and grief in a way becomes a mercy from God that helps us grow up.
I read your book a couple years ago when I was going through a rough time in my life. I had just lost an uncle to cancer and someone suggested your book. I just want to say thanks for writing that book and enduring all you had to endure to bring that work to life.
Thank you for the moving story, John. It's often unknowable why suffering falls when and where it does, but I'm grateful you've chosen to bless so many with your words.
Here's the story that came to mind for me after some prayer: About fifteen years ago, I was a brand new believer, fresh off of an unsought conversion experience. I was praying at that time that the Lord would send me halfway around the world to be a missionary. But instead He sent me across town to the retirement home where my grandmother lived, wheelchair-bound.
She and I would enjoy countless visits together over the next few years. She had always considered herself a religious woman, but confided in me one day that she was afraid to die.
I was only too eager, at that sort of prompting, to trot out all my newfound Bible know-how. She welcomed it. But nothing I said or did or prayed for her ever produced the kind of "road to Damascus" moment that I used to want for everyone. Instead, what she experienced was like a slow sunrise, the change only noticeable over time. Yes, we read Scripture and prayed together many times. But I also spent a lot of time listening to her stories and sharing meals with her. We would look at family photos together, and as her mind began to fade, I would gently remind her of who everyone was and how the whole big family tree fit together.
Before long, I was standing in a small cemetery, alongside those people from the pictures. As I said my last goodbyes to Grandma, I can't say that I felt an overwhelming sense of the Lord's presence. It seemed like just another windy day in Black Eagle, Montana. But I had learned a little about what it means to wait on the Lord. And why it it's worth it.
I am always encouraged by your words. I believe when our words are honest and vulnerable they have the power to bring hope to the hurting, to let others know they are not alone. My 17 year old son in passed away Nov 2013 from a tragic car accident, it was a day I will never forget and sometimes it still doesn't seem real. If you would've told me that day or the days following that day that I would be "okay", I would use this tragedy to glorify God, to help others find hope, I would have rolled my eyes and said "impossible" BUT what I have learned is there is one who says "I'm possible". I quickly join my church's griefshare program as a long term participant (because I knew I would need this until the day I die) BUT God used this ministry to pour into me and now I have been the facilitator of the ministry at my Church for 6 years and now pour into others the hope I received. What a blessing it is (words I never thought I'd say) to be given the opportunity to use a part of my story, to be used by God for his glory. What a blessing to be able to share my story, to share my hope, to educate people by using God's words like John 16:33 that say "In this life we will have trouble, but take heart for I have overcome the world", to share that peace and pain can coexist. I've learned so much through this journey and still learn things every day about who God is. He is the God who sees, the God who is Everlasting, He is all I need.
Wow wow wow. God is so good. How heartbreaking and delightful at the same time. I empathize with this duality. And I love your quotes on hope. Thank you so much for sharing. This was so beautifully written.
Thank you Diamonde! What makes me most excited to write these stories is knowing how it brings up reminders of the other beautiful stories that people keep dormant. Interested to hear about your stories.
Absolutely! I was just listening to a sermon the other day about the importance of seeing beauty in dark moments and while that can be incredibly difficult at times, I have found beauty in grieving the mother I am estranged from. It wasn’t until our estrangement that I realized how much I depended on her for validation and for my confidence. Now over a year later, I like this version of myself much more than I did before. I am validating myself and depending on God much more than I ever have. Which I’ve needed to do any way. I can see much clearer now and what I see is beautiful.
One of things I’ve learned in my journey after losing my dad in 2017 is to grieve someone correctly we must do the slow work of putting the true story or truest version of the story back together.
The true story of who they were, the true story of the real depth of our relationship, they true story about what I felt when I was in their presence and the true story of where the narrative was going whether that person was still alive today.
Fantastical remembering and fantastical imaginations only deepens the grief and pain at times when we are being unrealistic about what the relationship was meant to achieve in its living state and what it could’ve achieved had it continued beyond its expiration date.
We must be honest with ourselves and ask ourselves often, “Did that actually happen?”, “Do I actually believe that?”, “WHY am I crying? Is it for things in me that have died that have been triggered by this seismic loss or is it for the person whose face is now attached to my grief?”
To hold our grief well we have to be honest and be willing to see the dying person again in a new light, as they were before death got a hold of them, and before we laid our expectations on them for who they were meant to be to us. Who are we to say who someone was meant to be to us and for us?
Grief feels more painful when we’ve equated the dying persons legacy to death and forget that there are living parts of their story that are still being written to as ours is being written without them in the form we remember them in.
I’m still learning to turn my dad’s voice down at the back of my head because even if he was alive, sometimes I wish he didn’t have an opinion about the choices I made. Sometimes we can only amount to the fullness of the person we were meant to be when we learn to leave father and mother in order to submit to a deeper calling.
Sometimes grief is a rite of passage leading us to becoming who we are and we’re always meant to be, and sometimes the people we love consume a God-size amount of our attention, and grief in a way becomes a mercy from God that helps us grow up.
I read your book a couple years ago when I was going through a rough time in my life. I had just lost an uncle to cancer and someone suggested your book. I just want to say thanks for writing that book and enduring all you had to endure to bring that work to life.
Thank you for the moving story, John. It's often unknowable why suffering falls when and where it does, but I'm grateful you've chosen to bless so many with your words.
Here's the story that came to mind for me after some prayer: About fifteen years ago, I was a brand new believer, fresh off of an unsought conversion experience. I was praying at that time that the Lord would send me halfway around the world to be a missionary. But instead He sent me across town to the retirement home where my grandmother lived, wheelchair-bound.
She and I would enjoy countless visits together over the next few years. She had always considered herself a religious woman, but confided in me one day that she was afraid to die.
I was only too eager, at that sort of prompting, to trot out all my newfound Bible know-how. She welcomed it. But nothing I said or did or prayed for her ever produced the kind of "road to Damascus" moment that I used to want for everyone. Instead, what she experienced was like a slow sunrise, the change only noticeable over time. Yes, we read Scripture and prayed together many times. But I also spent a lot of time listening to her stories and sharing meals with her. We would look at family photos together, and as her mind began to fade, I would gently remind her of who everyone was and how the whole big family tree fit together.
Before long, I was standing in a small cemetery, alongside those people from the pictures. As I said my last goodbyes to Grandma, I can't say that I felt an overwhelming sense of the Lord's presence. It seemed like just another windy day in Black Eagle, Montana. But I had learned a little about what it means to wait on the Lord. And why it it's worth it.
Words to ponder
Words to hold
Truths to embrace
Hope to live in
God thank you for the beauty in these stories that fill our hearts today.❤️
I am always encouraged by your words. I believe when our words are honest and vulnerable they have the power to bring hope to the hurting, to let others know they are not alone. My 17 year old son in passed away Nov 2013 from a tragic car accident, it was a day I will never forget and sometimes it still doesn't seem real. If you would've told me that day or the days following that day that I would be "okay", I would use this tragedy to glorify God, to help others find hope, I would have rolled my eyes and said "impossible" BUT what I have learned is there is one who says "I'm possible". I quickly join my church's griefshare program as a long term participant (because I knew I would need this until the day I die) BUT God used this ministry to pour into me and now I have been the facilitator of the ministry at my Church for 6 years and now pour into others the hope I received. What a blessing it is (words I never thought I'd say) to be given the opportunity to use a part of my story, to be used by God for his glory. What a blessing to be able to share my story, to share my hope, to educate people by using God's words like John 16:33 that say "In this life we will have trouble, but take heart for I have overcome the world", to share that peace and pain can coexist. I've learned so much through this journey and still learn things every day about who God is. He is the God who sees, the God who is Everlasting, He is all I need.
Whew. This story. Your story. Our stories. We share them and hold space for each other. Thank you for sharing.
OUR STORIES!!! I'm still eager to hear some of yours