When I was a child, a favorite book was “The Gingerbread Man.” For some reason, this week I thought of the ongoing refrain, “Run, run, run as fast as you can! You can’t catch me. I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
While the Gingerbread Man might be uncatchable, I’ve learned, no matter how hard you try, you can’t outrun grief. You may sprint ahead, but somehow, grief passes you and waits for you, just around the corner, or right behind the door. Just when you think you’ve outpaced it, grief slams into you when you least expect it.
Last week, grief hit me full force. At seven months into this unwanted journey, I thought I was doing well. Then a pocket of grief exploded, sending me spiraling backwards. I was unprepared for the magnitude of pain and heartache.
Running, but No Hiding
Sometimes, you don’t realize you are running. What feels like forward motion may be an attempt to outrun the pain of grief. Perhaps something spawns a memory of a hard season. Grief is enough without having to deal with unpleasant memories. But it’s inevitable; along with the pleasant comes hard and unpleasant. Sorting through both requires perseverance and God-given strength.
You really can’t hide from grief. It waits. No matter how fast or far you run, eventually, you must do the hard work of grief.
Inward Grief
At times, grief is inward, deep and difficult to pinpoint or explain. Inward grief sticks to you like super glue, and you can’t shake it off. Inward grief doesn’t evoke tears; it just settles like a heavy mass on your heart. This grief hurts too much to talk about, and even if you wanted to, the words to explain are elusive.
Stop and Let Grief Do Its Thing
At some point, you realize it’s time to stop and just let grief have its way with you. Don’t try to brush away the memories or busy yourself with something that takes your mind off grief. Be still. Sit in silence. Pray and wait for hope to return.
After Jim’s death, a friend painted a small watercolor for me. Before she began, she asked what word I wanted her to focus on. It didn’t take long for me to know my word for this year was “hope.” Hope for each new tomorrow. Hope for the future. Hope for eternity. I look at that watercolor each day and focus on hope.
Job, the Biblical character known for a bevy of ongoing pain, heartache, and grief, said, “Though He slay me, I will hope in Him.”
In these days of the grief I can’t outrun, I’ve stopped. I’m sitting in silence, not asking questions, letting grief hit me full force, and waiting for hope to return. It’s a hard process, but one I know will come to an end. I’m trusting. I’m hoping. I’m enduring.
“When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face. The “worst” is never the worst” (Lamentations 3:28-30 MSG).
©CandyArrington
Candy Arrington is an award-winning writer, blogger, and speaker. She often writes on tough topics with a focus on moving through, and beyond, difficult life circumstances. Candy has written hundreds of articles, stories, and devotions published by numerous outlets including: Inspiration.org, Arisedaily.com, CBN.com, Healthgrades.com, Care.com, Focus on the Family, NextAvenue.org, CountryLiving.com, and Writer’s Digest. Candy’s books include Life on Pause: Learning to Wait Well (Bold Vision Books), When Your Aging Parent Needs Care (Harvest House), and AFTERSHOCK: Help, Hope, and Healing in the Wake of Suicide (B&H Publishing Group).
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