It’s funny the things that can immediately bring tears to your eyes. On an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I opened my inbox and gasped. Inside, an email invited me to congratulate my grandma on a milestone number of years in her listed profession: pastor’s wife.
Just past the hilarity of “How in the world is she on LinkedIn and who signed her up?” is the gut punch, the sting of tears, the unexpected wave of sadness rolling in.
What LinkedIn doesn’t know is that my grandma passed away. Today, as you read this article or listen to it on the podcast, is two years to the day that my grandpa passed away. Two funerals in less than one year is, frankly, two too many.
Grief is both a stranger and a close friend you know intimately. It can bring you to your knees in an instant, while other times you see it coming from a distance. It shouts and it whispers and it lingers, arriving in waves that can lap at the shore or roar in a storm. Grief is a path chosen by none yet eventually discovered by all, occasionally anticipated but mostly unexpected. It doesn’t care about our timetable, our plans, or our dreams. We all — every single one of us — will experience brokenness, pain, loss, and sorrow.
Within my small circle of close friends, over the last two years we’ve worn black dresses at seven funerals for parents or grandparents. We’ve walked through cancer, car wrecks, job loss, difficulty finding a new job, break-ups, abuse, starting over in a new city, a heartbreaking diagnosis, medical unknowns from the lack of a diagnosis, and unexpected surgeries . . . to say nothing of a global pandemic.
These two years have included celebrations and answered prayers, too. There have been plenty of good things, but it’s okay to recognize and name this season for what it has been and still is: a lot.
It’s a lot of loss. It’s a lot of grief. It’s a lot of change.
It’s been a lot for what feels like a long time.
My friends would take the pain and loss away from me if they could, just as I would for them, but there’s an undeniable gift in knowing we’ll face the waves together. There’s relief in not having to be okay together.
I’m convinced one of the most beautiful verses in all of Scripture is found in John 11:35 — “Jesus wept.” Those two small words speak a powerful truth: No matter what we’re facing, we aren’t alone. It’s not only a display of kindness; it’s a picture of His friendship. Jesus didn’t run from pain or rush through sadness, didn’t say “hurry up” or “get over it” or “at least ______.”
Jesus came and Jesus cried.
Despite knowing resurrection was written onto the next page of the story, the Man of Sorrows chose to grieve what was broken. Hope Himself let His heart break, and somehow it’s this that gives me hope in the midst of my heartbreak.
When LinkedIn emails and you want more than anything to actually be able to say Hello and Congratulations and I miss you so much . . . When a friend says “I’m just really sad today, and I can’t imagine a day when that won’t be the case” or another doctor’s report confirms the same difficult news . . . When you wear the white dress and the seat in the front row is empty or you reach for the phone and dial a familiar number before realizing no one is going to pick up . . .
It’s then that it truly and deeply matters: We have a God who cries.
Jesus isn’t scared of our grief or disappointed that we’re still sad; He just comes closer to weep with us. He isn’t surprised by our despair or our anger; He gets angry with death too, lamenting what has broken even though the Word knows the final word belongs to redemption, to joy, to life.
He might say, “Peace, be still” and calm the storm or He might show us how to walk on the waves that threaten to overtake, but no matter what, Hope is not going to let us sink.
And so if I may, from the girl who both smiled and cried over an email from LinkedIn, can I offer you the words my friends and I speak over each other when the storm is raging, when the answer to “How are you?” is “I’m sad today,” when the doctors still don’t know or the date rolls around on the calendar yet again?
I’ll hope for you.
Until you can catch your breath, I’ll hold onto hope for you, trusting that really, it’s Hope that’s holding onto us.
It’s okay if you aren’t okay today. It’s okay to not be okay tomorrow either. Waves will come, some stronger than others, some seen from a distance and others that will take you completely by surprise. Storms will come, but redemption is guaranteed and His presence is promised.
Our friend Jesus is acquainted with grief and familiar with waves. We have a God who cries. We have a reason to hope.
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Thank you for the reminder of how much we have gone through but who we have hope in no matter what we face. Jesus knows.
All I can say is Thank You. You have put into words what my heart has been feeling for a long time.
<3 It's my honor to do so. Thank you for reading and taking the time to comment!
Thank you Kaitlyn for this encouragement! You inspired me to reach out to my circle of influence to use your “I’ll hope for you”. I also expressed my gratitude for each of them that I can hope for them & they can hope for me. What a gift God has given us & we can share with one another! Blessings!
*smile* Thinking of the ripple effects of your texts brings me joy! What a gift you’re giving.
This means more to me than you can ever know. I appreciate the reminder of what Jesus went thru and that He too experienced anguish. And now when the tears come from me, I will try and remember Jesus is there with tears too.
Madeline and Kaitlyn, you have expressed it perfectly, thank you. Blessings and hope for us all
Yes. <3 Hugs to you today.
Kaitlyn, this is beautiful and just what I needed to hear this morning. We buried my sweet mom this week and I am missing her so much already.
Oh my… Gail, I’m so sorry to hear that. What a difficult week you’re walking through right this very moment. I’m grateful this post could be a small comfort to you today. You are seen.
Thank you…. I find I am easily teary even tho I have not experienced a big loss in the last two years. I think the pandemic (and stress, my husband is immunocompromised ) has taken a bigger toll on our emotional lives than we realize. But I am not, not ever alone, and He cares.
Absolutely! The picture that comes to mind is one of holding a small weight on your shoulders or in your hands. At first, it’s no big deal. But the longer you hold it, even just five pounds, the more worn down and tired you become… And it ends up being no small thing.
He does care. And you are NOT alone.
Walking my dog on this glorious Spring morn, I listened to your words Kaitlyn as Grace read your article. I was so touched. I lost my precious dad 384 days ago. Somedays it feels like yesterday and some days it feels like years since I kissed his beautiful bald head as he lay dying in his Hospice bed. Just as you spoke about the words of hope you and your friends speak over each other, a glorious red cardinal flew in front of us. It was in a place where I do not normally see cardinals. And just like Jesus, I wept…..thank you for bearing your soul and the encouragement your words bring to my heart.
I’ll tell you, it’s a gift to each of the (in)courage writers to hear Grace speak our words back to us! Doesn’t she have the most soothing, kind, care-full voice? Such a gift to every listener.
It isn’t really my story to tell, but I’ll say that red cardinals mean something special to someone who is special to me — someone who is in that small circle mentioned in the post. I am SO glad you shared that detail here in your comment — it truly touched me and I immediately had tears in my eyes thinking of how He is a God of the details. <3
Beautiful words. It’s pure comfort to know we don’t have to hide our brokenness, our grief, our tears, our pain from our Hope and Redeemer.
I love this, Kaitlyn! So comforting! Thank you.
I’m so glad it was a comfort to you this morning!
Thank you so much for writing this! I woke up sad today and your words made me realize what is going on. And its ok to be sad for awhile. I am grieving the loss of parents and relationships and just expectations that won’t be able to materialize. But I have a God who cares and friends who can say I can hope for you and I can pray for you.
That is so much. Absolutely… it really is okay to be sad. Jesus won’t rush you through… He’ll just join you where you are.
“It can bring you to your knees in an instant, while other times you see it coming from a distance. It shouts and it whispers and it lingers, arriving in waves that can lap at the shore or roar in a storm. Grief is a path chosen by none yet eventually discovered by all, occasionally anticipated but mostly unexpected.” Kaitlyn, you capture grief so well. Your words bring comfort and a feeling of being understood. Thank you.
Thank you, friend. I know you know this grief intimately. Thanks for leading us all well! Grateful for you.
Wow, I needed that today… Thank You
It’s a gift to know it showed up at just the right time. Thank you for reading!
Kaitlyn Thank you for what you wrote about greif. That Likdelin didn’t know your Grandmother had passed away. You still cry over her. That is normal. I love all you shared to do with greif. I could go days without crying. Over the loss of my late Mum. Who died 4 years ago January past. Then I look at photo of my Mum and one of all she done for me. Then I find myself in tears. Looking at how good a Mum she was all she did for me all throughout my life until she is passed away. I wish she was still here. But you know what makes me cry the most. I not know if my Mum asked Jesus into her heart before she died. As you couldn’t tell her about Salvation. Or she tell you to keep it to yourself. So I just loved my life for the Lorwx before her. Prayed for her Salvation. That makes me cry all the more. My Dad is still alive. He no notion of coming to Lord. I pray for him too. You can’t tell him either or he say the same. Keep you religion and beliefs to yourself. So I just pray for my Dad who is 81. Live my life for the Lord in front of him. My Mum knew I was saved so does my Dad. He doesn’t even go to Church. I don’t want my Dad to leave me anything when his time up on earth. Just to know he is saved before he leaves earth. That would be the best thing my Dad could leave me before he leaves earth. So I know God knows and see my cries for my Dad and when I look at photo of my late Mum. God say Dawn I love you I see your tears. Remember I will hold you and help you not to worry about your Dad salvation. Just keep praying that is what I do. Keeping you all incourage in my prayers for the brilliant work you do. Reading you write to help us grow in the Lord as followers. With all the truth you right and to do with things you write. Love Dawn Ferguson-Little xx
Dawn, I’m stopping right now to pray for your dad. Thank you for sharing. <3
“I’ll hope for you.” Those seem like uplifting and forward-looking words to say that won’t negate the pain, but will offer support through it. Thank you for your insight!
I just might have to steal those words, “I’ll hope for you.” Thank you for a gift I can give my hurting friends. Bless you.
Thank you for the this great writing!!
Oh this spoke to me today. I just came across something of yours and am so moved by your words. Thank you. Thank Him!
Kaitlyn,
We are a blessed people. We have Jesus who was fully human & fully God. He understands our grief & shares in our emotions. I am the type of person who keeps groups together. I’m the friend who calls to tell or remind you of something, text a quick hello, or send a card. You need a hug just ask. Along with God I want to give you some hope to hold onto during your trials.
Blessings 🙂