Waves of Grief, Take 2

Sometimes the waves just come. They come in the middle of your first meeting with your new coworkers, as you’re sharing about your lives. They come, unplanned, unexpected, and with such force you can’t breathe. You’re gasping for air, trying to get the words out.

Sometimes they come, and they come less articulately than you planned, with more force, more emotion then you planned. They come, spilling out of you, overwhelming you, and leaving the people around you in stunned silence.

But sometimes as they come, you’re sitting next to a friend who’s been where you’ve been, who knows what it feels like, and who links her arm with yours, holds your hand, leans your head on her shoulder, and breathes for you so you can breathe too.

And then sometimes they just don’t stop. The keep coming, and coming. And they keep coming. You’re on edge, you’re raw, and everything hits the nerve. They come after you talk on the phone with your parents, as you feel that ache of loneliness and homesickness. They come as you wash your face, as you brush your teeth, as you think about the day.

They come, they don’t stop. They come, and you stop trying to hide them, because you know you can’t. They come, and you look like an idiot, and yet, that is your truth. They come, and they show others it okay to cry, it's healthy to mourn, grief doesn’t need to be hidden. They come, and they speak words you can’t express. They come, and they show your vulnerability and trust. They come, and they are your gift, they are what you bring to world. They come, and they speak Jesus out of you.

They come. And you can’t stop them. You can’t stop Him, the Jesus who weeps.