The Broken Window

 

Grief. Here we go again. Just when I could finally breathe easier, I got another sucker punch. Like a litter of puppies tumbling all over each other as they wrestle to prove who is ‘top dog’, my emotions tumble over one another wresting to see which one will win out. Which one will surface this minute and which one the next? To be perfectly honest I have been pretty much on auto pilot ever since we were told that my Mom’s cancer was back. It is incurable, stage 4 breast cancer that has metastasized to her lungs. I live two provinces away with Covid restrictions refusing to ease up. When people ask me how I am doing, I have no idea how to answer. I’m angry, hopeful, frustrated, grateful, ready to ninja-punch someone or something, so very sad…

One morning as I was pondering this grief journey, the Lord gave me a picture of a broken window. The glass was still intact, and light was coming through, but the view was distorted. It wasn’t until I got right up close to the glass that I could see clearly. The closer I got to the glass the more clearly I could see the beautiful view from the window. Grief. I’d rather just observe from a distance, but the view is distorted from afar. The only way to process grief properly and thoroughly is to get up close and personal with it.

We don’t get to choose whether or not we will be faced with grief. If you are a human being, you will be faced with grief at some point in your life. We do, however, have a choice as to how we will navigate our grief. We can go through the day pretending it doesn’t exist – on autopilot like I was – or, we can embrace it, allowing the emotions to tumble around nipping at the ears of one another.

This isn’t my first sojourn with grief. Yet, it is different this time. It is not so violent and traumatic as previous losses have been. I’m not saying this is easy, it’s just different. I have time to ponder. There’s more light. I’m not curled in a fetal position but rather steadily moving forward (well sometimes not so steadily, and sometimes the steps are teeny).

2014 was a year filled with one sudden traumatic loss after another, sometimes all I could do was sit and weep while Jesus sat with me in my grief. This time I sense more of a forward movement, a desire to get up close to the shattered window to see what lies beyond it. It doesn’t seem like I am going into ‘the valley of the shadow of death’ but rather I am picking my way down into a fertile valley in broad daylight with Jesus lending me his hand when it gets a little treacherous, a place where my soul will be cared for and refreshed, a place of flourishing and growth. A place of hope.  

What’s the difference this time around? I think a huge part of it is my mom’s attitude. Every time we talk on the phone, she tells me something she is grateful for. Oh, sure we weep together very often, I’m not ready to live without my mom, but the tone of our conversation is full of hope. Another part of it is that we have time. Together we recall the many ways God has demonstrated His faithfulness to us through the years. We talk about painful memories and forgive each other for the times we have hurt one another. We recall the good times and laugh together as we share the humorous times.

“And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope…For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the believers who have died will rise from their graves. Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever. So encourage each other with these words.” (1 Thessalonians 4:13, 16–18, NLT) [Emphasis mine]

I place my hands on the window on either side of my face, pressing my nose up against the glass. I want to see as clearly as possible. I don’t want this grief to be wasted. As tears stream down my cheeks, I want to feel all the emotions, embracing each in turn. I can say with the Lamenting Prophet Jeremiah:

“The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!”” (Lamentations 3:19–24, NLT)

Sometimes it is necessary to speak to our own souls and announce truth out loud until our souls respond in hope. When I pull away from grief and stand back all I see is the broken window. As I rest my hands on the glass and press my nose up close to it, I can see what lies beyond…

*God’s faithful love which endures forever.                                                                                   *I know that my mom loves Jesus with all her heart and when she leaves this earth, she will be in His sweet presence forever.                                                                                         
*One day I will be reunited with her and my dad.

…there is joy beyond the broken window.

Press up against the broken window and declare the truth of God’s unfailing love and faithfulness today until you too can see the joy beyond the broken window.