Grief & Joy

There are many reasons I haven’t written in a while... moving back across continents, celebrating weddings, finding a house, traveling to visit friends and family, celebrating holidays, taking care of my boys, reconnecting with people – all while trying to find moments to rest and survive through the third trimester of this pregnancy...

But there is another reason. 

I’m scared. 

Every time I think about writing and trying to process some of my swirling thoughts and emotions, fear rises up in me like a huge wave that just might drown me. Right now, I’m keeping my head above water. Just barely some days – but I’m still swimming (or at least treading water!). But something about writing brings out truth and emotions for me – raw and real. Sometimes they spill out onto the page before I even realize they are there. 

This is what I’m afraid of. 

Because mixed with the joy of being with family this Christmas, and the excited anticipation of a new and precious little life joining our family any day now –- there is a sadness and a grief that I can’t explain. It’s lurking in the waves and I keep trying to ignore it. I keep trying to push it down and away. I keep telling myself that it shouldn’t be there – not now, not here. 

Anyone who knows me is well aware that I am not good at hiding feelings, being fake, or pretending that I’m fine when I’m not. I can do it for a little while, but it always surfaces in some way before very long. I also can’t run away from God – He is impossible for me to ignore. His prompting Spirit told me today to write – so here I am.

So why grief? Why sadness? Why now?...

Because I’ve lost something so precious to me. 

“But nothing is truly lost!”, I told my husband last night. “We have so many wonderful memories and experiences from this past year and a half, and everyone is just fine without us there." 

“Yes”, he answered gently. “But we have suddenly lost the every day relationship with many people we love. We don’t get to see, be with, and walk closely through life together with them right now.”

I insisted that the sadness and grief still don’t make complete sense to me. No one has died. All those we love in Cameroon are doing well as far as I know. We get to be with other dear friends and family right now that we've desperately missed this past year - and it is such a gift and blessing and joy. 

But my husband is right. We have lost something – and it feels sudden, abrupt, and painful. 

Leaving Cameroon was a whirlwind of activity. Arriving back in the States has been even more so. After being gone for over a year, many things here feel familiar and foreign at the same time. So many things in Cameroon still felt foreign when we left, but I’ve found myself longing for the quiet mountains, the calm evenings, and even the hard and steady rain. 

So what have I truly lost?? What is it that I’m grieving? 

I want to run next door to my neighbor’s house and borrow butter for a recipe – and stop to talk for just a minute to see how she is doing. 

I want to hug and talk with my newly pregnant friend who lives on the other side of our home and see how she is feeling today. “Any pregnancy cravings? Anything I can help you with?”

I want to have the women that are so dear to me over for tea and cookies – just to talk and catch up on the past few weeks. 

I want to be able to look into their eyes and really know how they are doing. 

I want to take the boys on a hike to the waterfalls. 

I want to see and hug and talk with those who were in my house nearly every day this past year – helping me cook, care for myself and the babies, and figure out how to live in a different culture and place. 

I want to lie in the grass and stare at the sky and pray - - without all the distractions and noise that threaten to smother me.

These are just a few of the things that immediately come to mind. The hardest part is that when we left the States last year, I knew that we would be back and that I would be able to continue most of the relationships I left. I still had to grieve then too. But this time, many of the residents and their wives will be gone by the time we are able to return to Mbingo. I haven’t even been able to say this aloud yet. I don’t want to admit it even to myself. 

As we enjoy this time with family and friends, and look forward to our new home in Kansas City for the next two years, I feel God gently prompting me to do it again... 

“Keep your heart open. Let people in. This past year was so good and rich because you let Me help you fully embrace it. Do it again.”

“But Lord, it hurts!”, I feel myself crying. Even as I write this, I’m finally letting the tears run down my face. “It hurts so much to let them go when I love them like this!”

“I know.”, He softly replies. “I know. But I am here and I will help you.”

I think that this is real, full life. It is wonderful and painful, good and hard, beautiful and broken. It is what we are called to as Christians. It is what I want and what I run from at the same time. 

Oh Lord, give me grace to keep loving, to keep my broken heart open, to live and love the way you do. I can’t do this for even a moment without You! This is what you did when you came to earth – opened yourself up completely to the pain and brokenness of humanity – loving us fully in the midst of our mess – and loving us still.