promises – I've Witnessed It.

Over the past month, there’s been a particular word I can’t seem to get away from. It’s been in my devotions, in my Griefshare videos, in my conversations… it’s almost become comical. That word is perspective.

Perspective: a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.

I’m sure you’ve heard countless times how powerful perspective can be. While this truth is not specific to grief alone, I would dare to say it is a truth that grievers must be hyperaware of. Here’s what I mean…

When we suffer an unexpected loss, confusion and anger can be natural responses. We search for answers. We wonder all of the why’s. We pinpoint what we should have done differently. And if we aren’t extremely careful, we spiral…

We start to believe God loves us less. We convince ourselves that there’s no hope or happiness left in this world. We’re consumed with our sorrow. It affects how we think, interact with others, plan (or don’t plan) for the future… everything. We watch the calendar for any “milestone” days (holidays, anniversaries, etc.) and fill ourselves with dread, wishing all of that precious time away. We live in a permanent and inescapable state of pessimism.

Why? Because our perspective shifts. It becomes painfully distorted as we repeat the lies of grief and begin to shape our entire life around them. The worst part? We usually don’t even realize what’s happening until we’re too far deep in the hole of despair.

If I’m being honest, I’ve found myself in this hole more times than I can count. It seems to happen when I become too fixated on my grief – when all I can see is my loss. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Of course my perspective is going to be warped if all I can think about is death and disappointment.

So… what do we do about it?

I’m going to share a short devotion with you that I find myself going back to often. The title is “Eternal Perspective” and is found in through a season of grief by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard.

When you begin to see heaven as your true home, you can develop eternal perspective that sees all sorrows as passing.

“It is possible to trust God in all things,” says Dr. Joseph Stowell. “You may have a hard time getting there, but you won’t get there unless you believe in the world to come. If this is all you have, if it’s just this world, then bitterness is your only option.

But if you believe that there is a God who is higher than you are and wiser than you are, and He has a world prepared for you where all Christians will be together again and be with Him in absolute joy and bliss, then that brings strength to your sorrow.”

Place your trust in God and in His preparations and plans for you.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:1-3).

Lord and Savior, I trust that You will someday bring me home to live in heaven with You. For now, I need to try and look at my sorrows in light of eternity. The things of this world are much clearer when I have a higher perspective. Amen.

I know what you’re probably thinking. “That’s a lot easier said than done.” You’re absolutely right, it is. So, let me offer you a simple exercise to try whenever you catch your perspective doing the dreaded spiral.

Ask yourself – “What’s right with this picture?”

For me, I think about how right it is that my mama was spared from this world. No more pain. No more tears. No more burdens. Just pure heavenly joy. I think about how right it is that she made sure we were taken care of. I think about how right it is that I’ll get to meet my sweet Parker as soon as I enter heaven’s gates. I get to meet my child, y’all! Also, how right is it that my mama gets to worship at the feet of Jesus beside one of her grandkids?! I love to imagine that beautiful, holy sight.

If you can’t think of anything right with your picture yet, ask yourself again. Ask however many times it takes. Because I guarantee you God is not letting your pain go to waste. Even in the worst circumstances, there is something right with this picture.

**Dana, if you somehow come across my blog – THANK YOU for sharing this exercise in Griefshare. It was truly one of those pivital moments for me.**

Grief has layers. LOTS of them. It makes me think of that line from Shrek. Yes… I’m actually about to quote a Shrek movie. Please don’t leave. “Ogres are like onions. They have layers!” To me, that’s grief – an onion (or ogre) with endless layers.

There’s a list a mile long of things I miss about my mother. She was so deeply woven into every aspect of my life, like any good mother would be. I miss her voice. I miss her high-pitched laugh. I miss her obsessive need to check in every couple of hours. I miss her calling everyone a “goober”. I miss her asking to pray for me. I just miss her. But this particular post isn’t about what I miss. It’s about my girls… and what they’ll never miss.

There are very few memories I have from my childhood that don’t include my grandparents. Summers spent fishing and four-wheeling at Miller’s Campground… Sundays spent in Siler City listening to Papaw preach… Never hearing the word “No” come from their lips (well, minus the times Mamaw Fletcher would chase me with the flyswap for being too sassy). Core memories at their finest. I can’t imagine what my life would have looked like without them.

Insert onion peeling.

The layers of grief seem to just keep appearing, no matter how much I peel. And the worst layer is grieving for my children. It is… hard. I don’t really have a better word for it. It’s just hard.

They’ll never get to have sleepovers with Mimi. Or go on “Girls Trips”. Or get spoiled with her random gifts. They’ll never see her in the stands. Or hear her tell stories. Or call her with questions. “Secondary Loss” is what professionals call it… The ripple effect of the primary loss. Something about putting a name with it makes it sting a little more.

I remember the very moment the ripple effect became reality for me. I realized Sadie would never have a picture made with Mom. Not a single one. Ellie was only 11 months when Mom died, but at least she had pictures she could look back on. Sadie was robbed of that. And the thought of her never getting to see herself with Mimi crushed me.

Secondary loss doesn’t feel so “secondary” if you ask me.

But here’s the punchline of it all. They’ll never know. They’ll never know what they’re missing out on because they’ll have no reference point. She was gone before she even had the chance to make an impact on them. She didn’t have the time to make lasting memories. Ellie was too young. And Sadie wasn’t here. And the ugly truth is – you can’t miss something you never knew. And that’s the hardest part. I’m left to mourn all of the “could have been” memories with Mimi for them.

So what’s my ray of hope here? Truthfully, I’m still searching for it most days. This particular layer of grief keeps a dangerous hold on me. I often struggle to see how God can use this layer for His good. My mind will fill with thoughts like, “God wouldn’t have taken her if He really loved you.” Or, “You must have really messed up for God to let this happen.” When these lies slip in, all I can do is cling to Psalm 118:1,6:

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
for his steadfast love endures forever!

The Lord is on my side; I will not fear.
What can man do to me?

In my darkest moments, these verses offer two simple, powerful truths. First, God loves me. No matter what my spiraling thoughts say, I cannot deny God’s love. It says it right there in His Word! Second, God is not against me. He is not out to destroy me or see me in ruins. He can’t be because, once again, His Word says so!

I don’t know about you, but I find so much comfort in those truths. To never have to doubt my Savior’s love or question where He stands – what a relief. I may not have this particular layer of grief figured out. I doubt I ever will. But I can move forward with the knowledge that God is holding me and my girls in His loving arms.

And He’s holding you too, friend.

Tag: promises

What’s Right With This Picture?

What They’ll Never Miss.