Hello Grief

I have written a letter to grief. This may be a help to someone who is going

through a difficult time of loss. Remember, one thing we all have in

common is that we are all grievers at some point in time.

Dr. Stan Vespie

He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Isaiah 53:3

Hello Grief:

I know it is ordained that I meet you because I have chosen a path that

requires it. The comfort I have is knowing that I am not alone in this journey

because ever since the beginning, human beings have come to intimately

know you. It was our choice, but it wasn’t a choice that we made with open

eyes. We were blinded by the fact that you lurked behind the

consequences of our rebellion and we created a pathway in which you

could invade our lives surreptitiously. We should have heeded the warning

of our Creator when he told us that if we ate the forbidden fruit, we would

surely die. Now you are the tip of the sword of that dreaded event.

Grief: what a horrible word! It is dark and dreaded. Considering the things

that surround you causes us natural trepidation. You are foreboding. You

make us nervous. We are apprehensive because we never know when you

are going to show yourself, only that you will appear, most likely when we

least expect it. In that you are much like the angel of death. In fact, I would

venture a guess that you and death are first cousins.

You are so diabolical that you can appear in a moment and crash into our

lives like an invading army, bursting down our door in a midnight raid that

strikes us down with news that brings us low. Other times you creep toward

us like a growing shadow of the night as the bright sunlight of happier times

sets and we are left to deal with you in our darkest hours. You can make

the sun disappear in the middle of the brightest day. You can make a storm

arise on the calmest sea. You can cause a lightning strike on a cloudless

day. Oh, grief -- we were so foolish to invite you into God’s perfect creation.

But here you are; we must deal with you.

I would like to avoid you, but that isn’t permitted. I try my best to not think of

you, but you force your way in to assault me with what feels like unbearable

pain. I have felt your company, and it is sometimes hard to breath because you try to smother out my will to live. You enter the gates of my house to

occupy and conquer me. You raid my life and attempt to steal my joy and

rob me of my peace. You make my eyes water; sometimes I think I will

drown in my tears.

You are a giant; I am so small. You are intimidating. You make me feel

puny and pint-sized. My meager efforts to confront you make me realize

just how quickly you can carve a deep wound in my life that while it scars, it

will never heal in this lifetime. I suffered sorrow at your hand 4 decades ago

and just two weeks ago when someone brought up my Dad to me, I broke

down and cried at my loss. So much for “time heals all wounds.” The only

way I’ll ever really heal is to escape the clutches of time and reside in a

place where you can never touch me again. For now – I need to become

better acquainted with you for its what my Savior did, and I’m His follower.

Like many grandparents, we have unceasing joy at being around our

grandchildren, but then you invade our space and it grieves us to have to

say goodbye to them, even for a little while. I seldom leave my

grandchildren without tears coming to my eyes because I miss their

company. But do you care? No! It’s your job description to make me sad

and keep me that way as long as possible.

We tolerate it; we endure it. We really have no choice if we are to continue

on this journey of life. But you can still hurt me and laugh at me and mock

me -- and the pain is just as real at those times, as it was the first time you

raised your sword against me.

I really don’t like you; I hate what I see what you do to others. We are all

eye-witnesses of your diabolical work when you embark to maliciously

chase down your victims: those who are going through the death of a loved

one, the extermination of a marriage, the betrayal of a friend, the death of a

beloved pet, the loss of a job, and the loss of health. I won’t humor you by

making an entire list, lest you boast about your abilities to wreak havoc to

whatever you touch. You are cruel and hateful. You leak malevolence and

meanness.

The weapons of your warfare are seemingly endless. With you comes

dejection and depression. Among your favorite companions and cohorts

who serve as accessories to your crimes against us are loneliness and

hopelessness. How many have died by your hand, Grief? How many have given up because of your unyielding choking grip around their throats? You

are an expert at breaking hearts.

You are ruthless without clemency;

you are heartless without compassion;

you are obstinate without compromise.

You know nothing about pity or compassion, sympathy or understanding.

With you is no leniency, benevolence, or forbearance. You love grinding

your heel into our necks until we surrender to a life of misery.

Your best quality may be your persistence. You never give up the fight. You

take delight in antagonizing us, and you find pleasure in defeating us. Oh,

Grief, I know you all too well. I am acquainted with you.

What saint of the Bible can I find that you did not show yourself to?

Abraham grieved over Ishmael and Sarah.

Isaac and Rebekah grieved over Esau and who he chose to marry.

Jacob grieved over the actions of both he and his sons.

Joseph wept great tears of grief for being sold into slavery by his brothers

.

Moses grieved over the burdens of Israel.

Joshua grieved over battlefield loses.

Israel grieved at the number of deaths that came as a result of their sins.

Ruth grieved over the death of her husband; and, Naomi over the death of

her husband and two sons.

Samuel grieved over Saul.

David grieved over Absalom.

Who hasn’t grieved?

The parents of those under two-year-old’s when Herod had them all

murdered in his bloodlust march to find Jesus Christ.

John over the death of James.

Peter over denying Christ.

The disciples for deserting Christ.

Even Judas for betraying Christ.

The Church grieved over the persecutions of Rome.

Paul grieved over the lostness of Israel in rejecting their Messiah.

The greatest example of human righteousness we can offer as a

representative is the man called Job. God said he was perfect, and upright,

eschewed evil and feared God. He lost 10 children in one day; lost his

health and his wealth. And his friends were miserable comforters and

physicians of no value. He was well acquainted with you, Grief. He begged

God to weigh his grief and to place his calamity in the balances so that he

might know just how heavy a burden he was asked to bear.

And, here, we must pause and blush. None of us can measure up to the

cloud of faithful witnesses who bear testimony that we are all grievers. One

thing I admire about you, Grief, is that you are no respecter of persons. You

strike the old and the young; the rich and the poor; every race, every creed,

every tongue. You show no favoritism of those who are mighty versus

those who are lowly. You pour your poison into the whole stream of

humanity so that no one is exempt.

Including the Son of Man; the Son of God.

Man of Sorrows, what a name!

For the Son of God who came!

Ruined sinners to reclaim!

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

What power you have, Grief! You could even touch the heart of God. It

grieved God that he made man so he sent a flood to destroy the human

race, save 8, including Noah who found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

God was grieved when the children of Israel refused to go into the

Promised Land and as they wandered for forty years in the wilderness and

a whole generation died.

Jesus knew you well, Grief. Likewise, you knew Him well. He did perplex

you, didn’t He? The first Man you could not conquer or defeat. He wept. He

grieved. He suffered. He bled. He died. He was grieved that His Father

forsook him. He sweat as it were great drops of blood. I can almost see you

standing the shadows of Gethsemane wondering about this Man. Your chin

resting on your index finger as you contemplated this most unusual Man!

What more could you do? What more could you add to His sorrows? He

bore the weight of the sins of the whole world on His shoulders and then

went to Golgotha’s hill and died alone, forsaken, naked, despised, and

rejected. At that point, even God the Father was on your side for it pleased

the Lord to bruise Him.

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,

In my place condemned he stood

Sealed my pardon with his blood

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Jesus turned the tables. He was our Redeemer and Representative and

declared to be the Son of God when He rose from the dead on the third

day. Was that a bad day for you, Grief? I hope it was your worst day! I hope

that event cause you some grief. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

Jesus Christ has taken you, our enemy, and transformed you into a

schoolmaster to teach us lessons we would otherwise not know. We know

God is the God of all comfort because of your work. Thank you! We know

that God’s grace is sufficient in everything, even in grief and sorrow and

dying. We know that God supplies all our need according His riches in

glory. One way we learn that lesson so well is by sitting in your company

and having you as our guide.

I am beginning to appreciate you more, Grief. I still don’t like you very

much, but that’s on me, not you. You meant it for evil, God meant for good.

And God’s ways always trump our ways. His thoughts are so far ahead of ours. Even when you thought you were sneaking in ‘under the radar’ and

would be a detriment to our relationship with God, He foresaw a pathway of

teaching us valuable lessons we would never have learned without your

help.

I would rather you stay away from me if I had the choice. But, you see, I’m

not my own; I’m bought with a price. So, whether I live, I live unto the Lord;

and whether I die, I die unto the Lord. If I never shed a tear, I would not

know the joy of the saints when God shall wipe away all tears from our

eyes. Had I never suffered a loss, I wouldn’t know what it be to enjoy a

gain. If I never had a love one die, I would never know the joy of what it will

be to one day be reunited with them.

I counted you as my enemy, but now you are my friend. Not my best friend

because I still have a long way to go to get to that point. But maybe one

day I’ll look back on the biography of my life written by the hand of the Holy

Spirt who guides and comforts me. And as my Teacher, He may show me

that my greatest times of growth were those days when you were my

closest companion -- my all too-familiar acquaintance.

When you keep me awake at night - I’m with Him who never sleeps or

slumbers.

When you weaken me - He shows me that His strength is made perfect in

my weakness.

When you make me cry - He weeps with me.

When I lose my health - He is touched with the feeling of my infirmities.

When you carve your deep scars in me - I can rejoice that I bear the marks

of Jesus Christ and, perhaps, I’m a bit more like Him than I was before you

stopped by to say hello.

When you make me anxious - I learn to pray.

When you make me fearful - I learn to exercise faith.

When you mock me - I remember He was mocked and to be counted

among His companion in arms is one of the greatest joys of my life.

When you rain on me - God gives me an umbrella.

When I become better acquainted with you - I hope you see His

resemblance in me.

When he comes, our glorious King

All his ransomed home to bring

Then anew this song we’ll sing:

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Allow me to muster up a bit of courage and say to you, “welcome to my

house, Grief. I know God has directed you to be with me for a season and I

trust Him to always do the right thing. If He has sent you, then you are to be

my honored guest. I invite you to sit down and allow me to become better

acquainted with you.” But -- just so you know, if I am completely honest -- I

still don’t like you.

© Stan Vespie 2023