Good Mourning

Few people know this about me, but I love to listen to rap while I’m on the road. Andy Mineo, Lecrae, and Trip Lee take turns riding shotgun during my short daily commutes to school, work, and home. The other day, Andy Mineo’s “You Will” started playing on my Spotify, and tears started rolling down my face. Immediately, my thoughts went something like “What is wrong with me? This is rap. This is upbeat. Why can’t I hold it together? I’m crying over nothing.”

I must have played that song on repeat a dozen times during the eight months my father received cancer treatment, and I owned every line of the lyrics. I believed my father could be healed, and I believed that my Father in Heaven would if His will allowed it and my faith was strong enough. The song hit home, and it hit home hard.

It became evident to me at that moment how much I have been neglecting my journey through grieving my father’s death.

I have a difficult time allowing myself to grieve. Not only do I not allow myself to grieve, but if I’m being honest with myself, most days I just don’t want to. I don’t want to face the fact that he’s gone and I’ll never share another memory with him. I don’t want to face the fact that he spent his life believing that I would be great and make a difference, but won’t be able to see me live that out. I don’t want to face the fact that my children won’t know him.

It’ll be two years next Thursday, March 3rd. In the nearly two years that my father has been dead, I have filled nearly every moment of my time with stuff so I wouldn’t have to think about him.

I think I’m protecting myself from hurt, but I’m really not. I’m hurting whether I like to admit it or not. If I don’t confront my hurt, it’ll eventually come out whether I like it or not.

Like while I’m jamming to Andy Mineo in the car.

Or while I’m pulling shots of espresso and it’s so evidently written on my face that my co-worker and dear friend pulls me aside and asks if I’m okay. Or when I zone out during a lecture at school and the professor assumes he’s said something that really worried me. Or in the hospital room when I obsessively check a patient’s oxygen saturation because I spent the last 48 hours of my father’s life looking at his fluctuate until he passed away.

It’s the elephant in the room. The spirit always remembers, even if the mind tries to forget.

I’m kidding myself by thinking I can just fake it until I make it. I can’t. None of us can. It’s a lie. When we’re not okay, we’re just not okay, and that’s okay.

Because what am I really doing to myself when I refuse to grieve? I’m robbing myself of joy and I’m robbing God of His glory.

When I’m so caught up in not wanting to face never creating new memories with my dad, I rob myself of the joy I shared with him while he was alive. I should be intentionally remembering him and enjoying all those moments. There is healing in that.

When I’m so caught up in thinking about how my dad isn’t around to see me get through nursing school and become the healthcare professional he believed I could be, I rob myself of feeling good and proud about myself. It should be enough to me that my wife is proud and God is proud. It should be enough that my dad would be proud. I can’t be afraid of graduation just because he won’t be there. I can’t just refuse to walk that day. I have to confront this head-on before I let it rob me of all the good that God intended for me to enjoy.

God intended for us to lean on him while we mourn. He promises to be there. Neglecting my journey through grief is robbing myself of His comfort, and robbing Him of the glory that will come through my faith. Jesus says it plainly:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
– Jesus Christ, from His sermon on the mount (Matthew 5:3,4)

By avoiding the issue, I’m not giving God an opportunity to comfort me. I’m not claiming my inheritance – the Kingdom of Heaven. Who am I to turn away the Creator? Especially when He intends to do good to me? I’m undermining the healing power of the Gospel. I’m denying others around me and the kingdom of God the testimony of a Christian mourner. I’m like Rachel, who turned away her comforters because she felt as though her loss was inconsolable (Jeremiah 31:15).

But it is not. No loss is inconsolable.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
– John (Revelation 21:4)

In His revelation to John, Jesus offers us complete healing, comfort, and joy in the life to come, despite all the sin we may have let ourselves fall into. He not only forgives, but offers us the most precious gift – Himself for eternity in paradise.

How can I appreciate this amazing grace and gift to come if I don’t acknowledge it when I’m going through something that – for lack of a better word – just plain sucks? I can’t claim a promise if I don’t realize that I need it.

I mentioned in my post entitled 2015 that though I failed to last year, I want to be more intentional about confronting my journey through grief and share my experience with those around me.

This isn’t me asking for attention or sympathy at all.

This is me, laying it all on the table.

Maybe you’ve been through a loss, too. This is me saying to you that you’re not alone. It’s okay not to be okay. We’ll get through this together, and it will be good.

As in all things, there is good in mourning.

IMG_6618

“Lord, there’s nothing you can’t do, / [There’s] nothing in this world too big for you. / So when they say you can’t, / I know you will. / I know you will.” – Andy Mineo

Advertisements

Hold me, LORD! [Things My Father Taught Me: Part 1]

I have a confession to make.

While there are so many shows that I openly and proudly express my appreciation for (Monk, White Collar, The Andy Griffith Show), there are also those that I hesitate to admit to liking. Guilty pleasures, to put a dramatic label on it. We all have them, right?
When I saw the pilot episode for Once Upon a Time, my first impression went something like:

I think this may be the most ridiculous show I have ever seen; I guess I’ll just have to endure this for the sake of spending some quality time with my incredible wife.

None-the-less, I gave it a shot. A few episodes in, and the unimaginable happened: I became hooked.

I know you’re judging me right now. It’s a great show, I swear. You just don’t even know. And that’s okay.

Anyway. So in one of the episodes, a young boy named Henry is dealing with some pretty strong emotions surrounding his father’s death. The character he is confiding in tells him this:

“The best way to show your love for those who are gone is to tell their stories.”

I shouldn’t need a quote from some show to motivate me to tell stories about my awesome dad, but it sure did the job. I’ll start with one of his last, since it is still so fresh on my mind. Continue reading