A Different Kind of Grief

During the grieving process, God applies Holy Spirit salve and it prepares us to limp with others through their own grief.

Photo by Egor Kamelev

As I drove to meet a friend/business colleague this week for coffee, I observed the aftermath of a storm from the previous night. Tree limbs were strewn about the city and the streets were still damp, but the temperature was mild, which is rare for this time of year. 

You’ve heard of the calm before the storm? This was the calm after the storm. 

Tuesday of this week was the first anniversary of Shawn’s death – a lifelong friend (I recorded a raw, emotional video about that if you’re interested). It was a dark day, filled with emotion. But as I drove through the city Wednesday morning, I felt differently. 

All the “firsts” were behind me – the first Christmas without Shawn, his first birthday without him and the first anniversary of his death. 

I’ve been thinking about 1 Corinthians 1:3-4 (ESV) this week: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

I’ve been in need of God’s comfort for the last year. And it’s come in so many ways – through friends who have listened to and prayed for me, long forgotten memories that occurred at just the right time, listening to the music Shawn enjoyed and meeting with his sister and daughter periodically.  

As I drove through the city Wednesday morning after the storm this week, I didn’t sense God saying anything specific. I just sat in his presence as I drove. I can’t describe the feeling I had any better than to say it felt like an internal switch had been flipped. And now it feels like the initial grieving period is coming to an end. 

Now that all the firsts have passed, the seconds will come with a familiarity that wasn’t there previously. I think this is one of the ways God works through natural means. His mercies are new every morning. In this case, his mercy also feels new at the start of year two.

Billy Graham once said something about sorrow that sticks with me: “Sometimes our way lies in the sunlight. Other times it lies in the path of sorrow. Yet even sorrows turn to blessings when they make us less attached to the world and more attached to God. Then more than ever we discover that Jesus truly is our friend.”

In a deep sense, I’ll always grieve this loss, but I sense it will be a different kind of grief. And maybe that’s what the apostle Paul was talking about in 1 Corinthians 1. 

At some point, God applies the Holy Spirit salve to our broken hearts and it prepares us to limp with others through their own grief. I’ll keep my eyes out so I can be part of the healing process in the way others have been for me.

If you aren’t grieving a loss right now, you will in the future. When you do, give yourself permission to feel your loss, lean into God and his provision and let him take you through the process. There’s no magic timetable. But God is faithful, and he knows how you feel. He experienced his own great loss when his son was nailed to a Roman cross.