How I hate this one word…change. Little did I know all the grief this year of change would bring with it. If I had, I’d have found a way to skip it, or maybe do things in such a way that I could protect myself from it.
My husband and I were having dinner with new friends recently, discussing the similarities in our lives at this point. The word grief was mentioned, and that’s when a light bulb flickered in my brain. That’s when I realized what I’ve been going through for the last several months. I’ve been grieving. How could I not?
I’ve experienced the death of a dream (for the second time), the loss of a treasured friendship, and given up the lifelong constant presence of church…all within a matter of a few months. Too much change. And too much sadness and heartache.
So far, I see very little good from any of this change.
I read about the five stages of grief, and think that I must be wavering somewhere between depression and anger. Sometimes I hold on to hope, thinking that all this change is magically going to get better, but that just seems like denial. So maybe I’m just randomly experiencing several stages of grief simultaneously. The one step I know I haven’t reached for any real amount of time is acceptance. That only comes for a few hours on the rare, good days.
I’ve always thought grief was reserved for those who’ve experienced the death of a loved one. Now I know that sudden, unexpected life changes can produce grief, as well.
From time to time, I wonder how God will take all this change that has produced so much grief and work it for good. Quite frankly, I don’t know whether to trust Him or to be angry with Him. Or both…at the same time.
I keep hearing about how some things have to die in order for something new to be born. That this grieving time is the in-between. That God is refining me, putting me through a sort of labor. But isn’t it true that when you’re waiting on a birth, it’s because you know something is going to be born? You know, one dream dies and another is born. One door closes, and another opens. I have no expectations of such forthcoming births.
I feel a bit like Joseph, tossed in the pit. No water. Life going on as normal for everyone above ground. I wonder what Joseph did in the pit. Did he try to climb his way out? Did he wait for death? Did he pray for rescue?
If rescue is coming, I’m unaware. Or if rescue comes with the acceptance of my circumstances, I’m not sure how long that will take. Unfortunately, it seems there’s no time frame for experiencing grief…
