lowercase grief

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Lent is over. Glimmers of spring sprouting all around us. The season of Eastertide begins as we celebrate Christ’s resurrection. For some, though, the springtime months are marked with grief. Loss and heartache fresh and close. Wherever you find yourself this season, join us as we continue to explore the theme of grief—in all its multi-faceted forms. Here is Alicia’s contribution.

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Returning home from the grocery store with my six-month-old son in tow, arms laden with shopping bags and cheeks flushed from the cold, I noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. Hitting play, a series of messages changed an otherwise ordinary January day into a fateful one.

My sister-in-law Wendy had died. Only one-week postpartum, an undetected heart defect took her life and left behind a husband, a three-year-old daughter, and week-old twin girls. She was 37. It was a tragic, heartbreaking time.

Slowly, our family moved through a season of grief. I sometimes thought the heartache would overwhelm me as I watched my son meet milestones and realized that Wendy would never see those same ones with her daughters.

Wendy’s death and its aftermath marked what I call big “G” grief.

Almost 30 years have passed since Wendy’s death. In the intervening years, I’ve had my share of losses and heartaches—including a few more in the big “G” category—deep, poignant pain and loss. Mostly, though, I’ve experienced small “g” grief—the troubles and annoyances that mark life in a fallen world. The grief that manifests itself from a fractured relationship, a prodigal child, a challenging season of marriage, or an unfulfilling work situation. Like big griefs, these small griefs sometimes persist for years, even decades.

Here’s what I have discovered to be true again and again: God meets me in my grief, whether it is big or small. And God does the same for you. Maybe today you need this reminder.

Here, my thoughts turn to Jesus. He certainly faced big grief on earth—his cousin John beheaded, the death of his earthly father, and the betrayal of his closest friends, to name a few. He carried his fair share of small grief as well. He watched his disciples struggle to grasp the kind of kingdom he promised. He negotiated petty disputes between them. On a daily basis, he navigated a world that didn’t operate the way it was intended.

How did he navigate these griefs?

I know he prayed. He grew up steeped in the Psalms. Surely, like David, he cried out in disappointment, frustration, and sadness by the heartache and loss he experienced as well as for those whom he loved. I also think of Job and his prayers presented to God in the form of a lawsuit. As I read these brutally honest psalms and the prayers of others throughout Scripture, I find the words and the courage to express my own prayers.

So like Jesus and the saints before me, I pray. My words raw and honest.

At times, I’ve found it difficult to be a person of hope and trust, particularly when it comes to small grief. I want closure. I want relief. I want peace. I cry out, “How long, O Lord?” Perhaps you’ve prayed these same words, too. Even in these moments, Jesus meets me. He knows what it means to be fully human. One who knows what it means to remain steadfast in hope and trust. No matter whether my grief is big or small, I find assurance that there is one who walks alongside me. One who is familiar with loss and heartache.

And I keep praying, resting in the unfailing love of Jesus.

Alicia Brummeler is an author, a speaker, and a teacher of English at The Stony Brook School on Long Island, NY. She holds a MA in Christian Spiritual Formation and Leadership from Friends University. Alicia wrote Everywhere God: Exploring the Ordinary Places, a book about ways to encounter God’s presence in the everyday. She is passionate about helping others discover ways to live life with God. Find out more about her at aliciabrummeler.com.