This week the sun is rising over many previously shut down communities. The hope of “life back to normal” awakens us from the quarantine slumber. Optimism can be contagious. How is it with you?
Even as hope dawns, I am reminded of what is supposed to be happening right now: Baseball games. Graduations. Summer break plans. Grocery store trips without masks and tape on the floor telling us which direction to go. While we may long for the world to return to normal, it is not normal to which we return this week. We reenter life under the cornovirus regime who still sits partially in power.
There has been loss. Too much. Proms. Jobs. Normalcy. Body counts on the news. And worst of all, friends and family. What do we do with all of this loss, big and small?
We do not want to do pain. Deep down in the hearts God gave us we know: Pain should not be part of life. So why let it?
Here is why: The heart that lives well, grieves well, and the heart that grieves well, lives well.
To live and breathe with our heart engaged, we must face one of our biggest villains: the part of us which refuses to engage our emotional and spiritual pain. The hurts we encounter throughout our life are bad enough, but our internal demand to ignore them exacerbates our problems and further impairs our ability to experience the life and relationships we desire. In other words, if you do not learn to grieve well, you cannot live well.
Do you make it a habit of honoring your pain? If you do not, would you do it before reestablishing your life in the post Covid-19 world?
I’ve made a list of losses over the last two months. Among the toughest to grieve: Daddy-Daughter Dance (I only get so many as a father). Spring sports seasons. And Pete. The first person in my state to die from coronavirus was often the first person to say hello when I walked into the gym. The world lost a kind heart the moment Pete died. I know I did.
During his breaks at work, Pete would walk the track overlooking the gym. He looked down to watch the pick-up basketball games I played in.
“Luke, the way you shoot that three pointer…did you play basketball in college?”
Pete gave the gift of kindness and warmth with his questions and presence. The next time I walk through the gym door he will not greet me, and it will again be time to grieve.
Live well, grieve well.
Grieve well, live well.
Grief is the invitation to honor life by honoring your losses. The heart uses sadness as an invitation to honor what is sacred, good, and of value.
But so many people have much more to grieve than me. I hear this in some form almost every week in my counseling office. Yes, pain is relative, but pain is still pain. Your pain does not matter less because someone else experiences more pain. We harm ourselves when we minimize our emotional reality due to comparison. We do not love others better by dismissing ourselves. Rather we learn to love others as we love ourselves. Honor your pain, and then get busy loving others the same way.
If you learn to grieve well, you can live well.
Sadly this is not a one-time skill to master. For as long as you breathe, you will be tempted to disengage from facing your pain. Like a house divided against itself, parts of you literally sabotage your best attempts to live fully. Doesn’t the villain in a story tempt the hero to avoid what is true? In this case, the villain lives inside you. I tell people all the time: Emotional and spiritual health require we face reality. While reality feels vulnerable and can hurt, engaging it wisely leads to living present and living well.
The heart who refuses to grieve is like the sailor who abandons ship only to be tossed by the waves and possibly drowned.
We’ve all done it. But we do not have to do it now. Will you choose to honor your sadness? Will you sit and be present with your losses before returning to “normal life”?
Of course I am mindful some of us have more to grieve than others. This is not about comparison. Be faithful to grieve the loss that is yours to grieve. Do not put a timeline on your process. Like the rainfall which fills a dry creek in a storm, tears must run their course before they are gone. Let them come and guide them well.
As a promise to you, I will take a moment to grieve the next time I walk into the gym. I’ll sit on the cold metal bench, and before I lace up my shoes and pull out the basketball, I will look up to the track and hope to see Pete walking. I’ll look for his wave. I will pass by the table where he used to eat his banana and read the newspaper.
John 16:20 gives us the model:
…your grief will be turned into joy.
Grief is not the end of the story, but it is a unwanted chapter. So is this season now. To live well in your chapter and before turning the page: name your losses and honor them. This is about much more than the end of cabin fever and contagious optimism. Rather you are training your heart and watering its roots in the practice of wise living.
Live well, grieve well.
Grieve well, live well.
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