Come Feel This Weight With Me
For a few years I’ve felt shame over my grief of leaving a place I loved.
I should be over it by now.
I should not be affected by it anymore.
No one wants to hear about it. I should keep this to myself.
Am I allowed to feel this grief? Is my grief worthy to acknowledge? These are the questions I’ve asked myself. I’ve felt that if I communicate the way I feel to anyone, it means I’m not content or willing to embrace the season I’m in now.
Quite the opposite is true. I can simultaneously miss what used to be, and be grateful for the present. I still pinch myself sometimes when I take a bird’s eye view of my life now.
The death of a person seems like the epitome of grief, and therefore, any other grief I have feels unworthy to mention. But, grief is what this is. It has all the common indicators. It’s the only way I know to describe my emotions after the loss of a…place? people? community? season? dream? I don’t even know what category to put the loss in. It’s all of the above and then some.
There is a perspective of grief I’ve heard explained somewhere that over time, the hits of grief become more spread apart, but the hits are just as hard as they were the first time. There’s another idea that you grow around grief—the grief doesn’t get smaller but your life grows larger around it.
I recently spent the weekend in Huntsville for my daughter’s volleyball tournament. For anyone new here, Huntsville was home for the first twelve years of Brent’s and my marriage. Those twelve years made quite an impact on us. It shaped us in so many ways that it will take billions of words to tell the full story. Maybe even a book one day? That’s the lofty goal I have.
But first, I need to come to terms with my own emotions.
As someone who loves words, I like to be able to name what is going on when I’m processing something painful, complex, or confusing. I want whatever I felt during that weekend in Huntsville to be something that can be resolved because I’m growing weary of the weight of it. But as I crossed the Tennessee River at sunset on Friday night and had a full blown ugly cry, I finally accepted that this weight isn’t going anywhere. Grief cannot be resolved. It’s here to stay, but my life is growing larger around it.
Sometimes knowing the truth in your head isn’t effective until you say it with the cry of your heart.
I was at the mercy of the tournament schedule all weekend, but I managed to see a few friends. On Sunday morning, I went to church and had a sweet reunion with some familiar faces. If I’m honest, the me that is tired of processing this grief came really close to not showing up. It felt like going back to a cemetery to visit a loved one, just to be reminded of the loss I’ve experienced. It is hard to return. I really didn’t want to feel that weight, but I treasure the ways God has woven my life with the lives of others. Beyond the surface of not wanting to feel the heavy emotions, I knew I needed to make an effort.
Come feel this weight with me.
Those are the words I said to God. I didn’t have to ask Him to do this because He doesn’t let us carry our burdens alone. He is Immanuel, God with us. But, sometimes knowing the truth in your head isn’t effective until you say it with the cry of your heart. He does give us more than we can bear, so that we will ask him to bear it with us. More than just carrying our burdens, He feels the weight of them. My sorrow is His sorrow. He feels it too. This is not the first time I’ve asked Him to feel this weight with me.
Give me words to heal my heart.
Those are the next words I prayed. Because God is omniscient, He gave me healing words in the lyrics of a song planned for the worship set by people who had no idea these words would be an answer to my prayer. I’ve heard the song many times but I heard them differently this time.
Let my sighs give way to songs that sing about your faithfulness
Let my pain reveal your glory as my only real rest
Let my losses show me all I truly have is You
’Cause all I truly have is You
Satisfied in You (Psalm 42), The Sing Team
As I drove into Birmingham on our way home, I felt gladness in my heart at the view of downtown at sunset. I’m humbled and thankful for the life we have now, and the same is true for the twelve years we had in Huntsville. Missing a past season of life doesn’t mean I don’t see the good in the current one. I love our life in every season, but after a few years, I’m finally making peace with the grief of the last season. I feel it only because God was so good and faithful to us. If we ever leave the place we’re currently in, these words will be true then too.
I’m convinced that grief, at its core, is a sorrow-filled expression of a deeply thankful heart that cries to God for giving us such wonderful gifts, then finds joy in the midst because it won’t always be this way.
Here, in this space, I pray God uses my words to point you to Himself, whether that’s in grief, joy, or a beautiful mixture of both. One day it will forever only be joy.