Friday, March 6, 2020

Hard Things, Great Grace

You learn way more from the hard things. I can't tell you how much I want to add that sentence. To refine it, to define it, to expand upon it, heck even to soften that reality. But truthfully...those eight words say it all.

Here is what I've learned. Loving deeply is what we are called to do. Loving deeply hurts some of the time. Life, and love, will bring times of loss. Loss changes the essence of us. Perhaps not a bad thing. But it's definitely an excruciating process. I wouldn't wish the tragic loss I've experienced on anyone. And...I will admit to envying those whose loss came in other ways.

A dear friend of mine told me recently that I suck at asking for help. I was not offended. I looked at myself, and said "self she'd be right". Asking for help taps into our vulnerability. Who wants to feel vulnerable? That's one of those feelings that makes us all squirm. So I've been pondering why I struggle with asking for help. Nothing feels safe after a tragic loss, so asking for anything feels like risky business. I/we try to stay the course, to not rock the boat, to get by, to make due. We want to keep things in "control" even when we know nothing is in control. Can you sense the irony there? Isolation, which I find to be one of the hardest things to deal with as a survivor of suicide loss, is not at all what the good Lord, and our friends want for us. They want us to lean in to their strength. They want to be there for us. They can be, if we let them.

Letting them in is the hard part. First there is that whole control/no control issue. Then we often don't know what we need. It is hard to let someone in to what we ourselves can't define or understand. Some are quick to judge, so we know we need to keep our distance. Stigma keeps others away. Some walk our path and challenge us to keep moving forward. Some even tell us what we suck at, in the most loving possible way. Some remind us (daily!) that we can do hard things. We can, we do, and we learn the most from them. Therein lies the grace.














2 comments:

  1. I too lost a son to suicide. Your words hit home for me (I also suck at asking for help). Thank you for writing.

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    1. I lost my husband to suicide. I can only imagine your pain, and I'm here for you. I hope my words bring a blessing, a bit of encouragement, a glimmer of hope.

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