Tragedy, Surprise and Hope

“Everything is interim. Everything is a path or a preparation for the next thing, and we never know what the next thing is. Life is like that, of course, twisty and surprising. But life with God is like that exponentially. We can dig in, make plans, write in stone, pretend we're not listening, but the voice of God has a way of being heard. It seeps in like smoke or vapor even when we've barred the door against any last-minute changes, and it moves us to different countries and different emotional territories and different ways of living. It keeps us moving and dancing and watching, and never lets us drop down into a life set on cruise control or a life ruled by remote control. Life with God is a dancing dream, full of flashes and last-minute exits and generally all the things we've said we'll never do. And with the surprises comes great hope.”  ~ Shauna Niequist, author of Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday 

The past year was more than twisty and surprising. Seven months out, I go to bed thinking about the shift that has come in many relationships since my husband's death. I sense it, even though it is so subtle it's barely perceptible, and I wonder again, “Is it my imagination?”

I look again at reality, and I pick up the book on grieving and read how relationships change after a loss. So it isn’t just me.

Many can't think about what happened without thinking, "What if that happened to me?" This is such a large question; most don't want to think about it. Or about how the bereaved spouse must be feeling. Seven months have passed, shouldn’t he/she be over it already?

We just don't know what to do with tragedy.

The Lord knows those who are his. Knows the end from the beginning. There are no surprises to Him. But this is a pretty epic move for me into different emotional territories and different ways of living. The grief book says, “Let yourself feel the emotion.”

Must I?

Photo: Cory Huchowski

A flood of unparalleled and catastrophic proportions has decimated my beautiful city, the surrounding towns and the glorious Foothills containing some of my favorite hiking trails and campsites. Several dear friends are directly affected; thousands more cannot yet return home, some will have their homes declared uninhabitable; thousands more have begun helping those affected, shoveling tons of sludge and tearing out what has been destroyed.

Photo: First Alliance Church Calgary #FACHELPS

I wake, lie still in my still house, on a record-hot day, still thinking about the growing distance in my personal relationships, the challenge of my work commitments, the needs of aging family members, and all the other emotional, physical and logistical limitations that prevent me from helping my friends as a flood clean-up volunteer. Will this only create more distance between us?

I crawl up in a ball, tight in the fetal position and begin to wail. So many people are grieving; my hurt in my loss - and this twisting spin into a solitary life - seems to pale in comparison. I cry more for my inability to help them.

I feel like those who need to clean their homes after the flood, gutting them right down to the foundation, and piling it high on the sidewalk outside, looking like a war zone.

Photo: Peggy Abbott

Photo: First Alliance Church Calgary #FACHELPS

My life needs a gutting.

But how? I imagine changing my work, but that’s not the answer - at least not right now. I de-clutter, give away ill-fitting clothes, sort through old family slides to try to find me. I hire a Personal Organizer. She gets a day job, gets sick and abandons our partnership. I consider moving, I look at show homes and talk to builders and visualize moving into a fresh clean bright new place to live, free of the memories of the past: A Fresh Start.

And I wake, in the stillness of my still house, lying still, reading about grief and how I need to let myself feel instead of ignoring it or numbing it by avoidance or busyness or fantasy or (fill in the blank).

Let yourself feel.

And so I wail. Not for long. But long enough. I'm not losing it. I'm gutting my emotions.

This is normal. It will subside. No need to pity me or fear me or avoid me. The chance of me bursting into tears in the middle of our conversation is minimal at best. You don't need to do anything. No need to arrange an intervention. No need to be embarrassed. Or feel awkward. Or cross the street to avoid me because you don’t know what to say or you’re just too spent with your own grief to hear someone else’s. I get that. Totally. I promise not to dump my emotional sludge on you.

This is grief. It is tragedy. It is life. It’s not “good.” But it IS normal. It is the human condition in a broken world. Why should I (or you) be exempt from trouble? We groan. We grow. We laugh. We fail. We hope.

I know you pray for me. I know you hurt for me. But there's no need to worry. The Lord knows those that are his. And he knows me. And he holds me. Each of us must bear our own burdens, at times. And we must bear one another's burdens, at times. But ultimately, God is the one who helps me shoulder my emotional backpack and when I can’t go on, he carries me.

Here’s what you can do:

Walk beside me and be my friend. That's gutting life to the true foundation. Hold my heart as we move and dance and watch, and let’s never drop down into a life set on cruise control or a life ruled by remote control. Sometimes I need to talk, but most times I just need to git 'er done. If you really want to do something practical, I have a list. Just ask.

That takes guts. And God. And each other: Open. Vulnerable. Trusting.

The guttural groans subside, I wipe my eyes, comb my hair and step back out into the messy "one beautiful life" I've been given. I can’t do it all, but I can do the next thing. It's gonna be a good day to work and give and rest and cry and laugh and love.

He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it. – Philippians 1:6

Now that is surprise and hope.

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The New Normal: In Church Alone

A phenomenon I didn’t expect as a strong, independent woman was the way I feel walking into church alone. It is the hardest thing I have had to navigate as a new widow. I don’t feel sad, so far, just awkward. I’m not alone in this. Any widow, divorcee or single person likely has an “uncomfortable” story.

Why is this? Especially in a place that seeks to have arms wide open. I don’t feel awkward walking into a business alone or into the gym. I think the essence of Christianity is relationship – first with God, then in community. So to be alone can be problematic for any church attendee and appears to be a huge untapped area of ministry within the local church fellowship.

I knew this before. It just didn’t touch me so it wasn’t high on my priority list. Maybe it should have been higher. Maybe if I were gut-level honest, I would have to admit that I didn’t really care. It simply wasn’t on my radar.

My friend Carole, a slightly older single woman who died last March, would often seek out women sitting alone (after services and on Tuesday mornings at the Ladies’ Bible study) and engage them in conversation, “just so they feel like they belong,” she would tell me.

She occasionally called or sent me a Facebook message to inquire what weekend worship service we were attending. Only once or twice did she directly ask to sit with us. I would accommodate her when she asked, though sometimes coordinating our time left her waiting for me. She was never a burden and was never needy or clingy. We were close friends and met weekly in a small group.

However, I rarely made intentional effort to reach out to her on Sundays. When I did, she was very grateful. I didn’t really understand what this meant to her.

Now I do.

Couples and families don’t get this. I don’t fault them for that. I didn’t get it either when my husband was alive. We simply didn’t know what it is like. Marriage and family give an automatic sense of belonging. The need for companionship is met, and out of that base of security, one can venture great distance because there is always someone to come home to. Those who have this benefit are unaware that their “independent” attitude would disappear if the foundational basis of their marriage were gone.

Don’t get me wrong. I have friends at church, good friends. I have divorced friends, single friends, married friends of all ages. I usually meet up with them. I am fortunate to have had a decade of building these relationships and most of these friends are very caring and sensitive to include me in their lives but I don’t plan ahead. They can’t always do this either. I didn’t.

I simply didn't make an effort to include Carole sometimes when I could have done so without any inconvenience. I also recall changing directions one Sunday so that my path would not cross with a recent widow. I blush now, but at the time, I didn’t know what to say to her, which is ludicrous because she’s a lovely conversationalist. It wasn’t up to me to comfort her or minister to her, just to say “Hi” and let the conversation go wherever it will. But my own discomfort trumped relationship. Relationship. The one thing I had and she didn’t. I had the ability to give her this gift and I withheld it. How did I miss this so completely?

Another friend’s husband never attends church with her. He has no interest in spiritual things. She is an inspirational example to me in her spiritual singleness.

I asked her: “How do you do it? Always arriving at church alone?”

“Many Sundays I cried,” she replied. “Sometimes I have a pity party for myself. In my more mature times I look for a single lady, a stranger, and ask if I can sit with her. Sometimes they are waiting for someone else, sometimes they push my gesture away, but on a few occasions I make a friend and encourage a lonely person to come back the next week. A few of those lonely people are still lonely and say that I am the only person who befriended them at church.”

One acquaintance, when she saw me entering the sanctuary alone, warmly invited me to sit with her and her husband. Although I was meeting someone else and declined her invitation, her expression of kindness will stay with me for a long time.

Jesus not only commanded us to care for the needs of widows and orphans, he intentionally sought out the outcast. Think of the woman at the well in Samaria. She hauled water at noon, the hottest time in the day, so she didn’t have to be alone in a crowd when the well-behaved wives came in the cool of the day. Jesus quenched her thirst and she became an evangelist to the whole town. This provides an interesting example for the local church in our outreach efforts. This is an untapped area of ministry, both in providing a place of belonging and a place of service for singles, widows and divorcees and in widening our own circle and becoming sensitive to include those that feel outcast.

I am an active volunteer within the church. Volunteerism can provide an “in” to a group, a sense of belonging and opportunity to build new friendships while I am working to meet the needs of others. Serving others also helps keep my own needs in perspective, but I still have to walk in the building alone to get there.

As a follower of Jesus, whether married with family or alone, I need to develop other-awareness and long-term memory, getting out of myself and reaching out to those in need, engaging others in conversation about more than just my own “stuff”.

In the meantime, my knowledge is increasing - of the Lord who never leaves me, the one who sticks closer than a brother, husband or best friend. The one who said, “You are my beloved, I am yours and you are mine.” My dependence on God is growing exponentially and increased sensitivity has softened my heart to the needs of others. I’ve started conversing with the Lord - out loud, anytime, anywhere - just like I would with any other friend who is present with me.

I can almost hear my Saviour say, “Hey, let’s go find someone and invite them to join us. Two is good, but a trinity is better.”