Winter of Grief by Carol Harrison

 

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

It’s been a winter season of mourning and trying to figure out a new normal since my husband, Brian, passed away. It’s been almost two years and yet sometimes it feels like yesterday.

It’s been a season filled with much weeping, especially in the first year. I’ve been exhausted. The journey with him through the cancer was long and tiring for both of us.

At the beginning and occasionally even now, it’s felt disloyal to move forward, to embrace a time of laughing again. Yet remaining stuck in grief is not the answer. At times I feel I should have moved forward further than I have.

I felt lonely and still often do and even second guess decisions I make or need to make. My partner is no longer here to discuss them with. Yet he never wanted me to stop living life to the fullest I can. It just wasn’t his desire for me once he no longer lived his pain-filled life.

So how has God provided for me as I move through grief and this time of mourning? God gave me a wonderfully supportive family who are there for me, check up on me and just care. Then He provided encouraging friends. One in particular, who lives at a distance, texts often. Sometimes the chat contains daily life activities. Often he asks how I am doing and waits for an honest answer. There are no platitudes, just genuine care and concern. I also have a great Christian counsellor who listens well as I share this journey. In all, God has given me a wonderful support system which helps offset some of the loneliness.

Yet this season of grief and dealing with details of funeral and estate along with daily life has left me feeing uncreative. All I’ve written for over two years is the monthly blog post which has taken much work and has often been difficult. I ask when will creativity flow once more? When will discouragement fade? When will the time of laughter ring out?

One day at a time. Sometimes hour by hour I’ve been walking through this winter season of life, waiting for a time to fully embrace the new normal of life, including finding my way to more writing and crafting. It will come in time – God’s timing and not mine. I pray I hear the nudge when he presents it.

 

Carol Harrison lives in Saskatoon, SK. The winter photo above was taken from the train in Northern Ontario a few years ago on one of their memory making trips. Carol is in a season of waiting for the spring of creativity to bloom.




 

This Wild and Precious Life by Susan Barclay

Good new year, everyone.

As I considered this month’s writing prompt, I was reminded of a book I read last year, A Curious Faith by Lore Ferguson Wilbert. An entire chapter is devoted to the question, “What is in your hand?” Lore offers a different and thought-provoking perspective: “When God asks what is in Moses’s hand, the staff in his hand is there because so many things have gone wrong in Moses’s life.” Lore suggests that when God asks you what’s in your hand, he is asking, “What did you not expect to carry into this ‘wild and precious life’?”

A close friend shared this with me: “I don’t always like what is in my hand, and often look at what is in someone else’s hand and wonder why I didn’t get that. But I know God gave me what is in my hand and know he must have a purpose and use for it. I believe that God has given you the issues you are dealing with now, because he knew you could handle the job. And that you would handle the job with Christian love and grace and would be a witness to those around you. One day God will say to you ‘thanks for taking care of that, I knew you were the right person for the job’.

What is ‘in my hand’ is a story I never wanted and never sought out. It is a story involving prodigal children and a challenging caregiving journey. The stage of life I am in looks nothing like what I expected or hoped for. But God has shown me my faith is built on the solid rock of Christ. I may be tested and tried, my “trunk” may be bent against hurricane-force winds, but I will stand in him. He is faithful, he is good, he is kind, he is the one true Promise-keeper.

I trust that God will use what’s in my hand to bless others, whether that is in my writing or in conversations and offering support. As Lore says, “he uses our grief to make space for another’s grief. When our grief is palpable and present, mourners find their way alongside it sooner or later.”

Moses used his sheep-herding staff to astound a pharaoh, split the Red Sea, bring water from rock, and help the Israelites win a battle against enemy forces. God didn’t waste Moses’s flock-tending years; he redeems the years the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25). Since he doesn’t waste anything and turns for good what the enemy means for evil (Genesis 50;20), I can hardly wait to see what he does with what’s in my hand! May it be soon, Lord Jesus!

_______________________

c. Susan Barclay, 2025. For more about Susan and her writing, please visit www.susan-barclay.blogspot.com

The past walks with the present ... by Jocelyn Faire

 

 

... because the past walks with us in the present in more ways than we know. ~ Brian McLaren

     I feel I've had more than enough life defining moments. The most heart-and-soul wrenching  moment was to stand between the caskets of my son and my daughter being lowered ... trying to convince myself that “we do not grieve as those who have no hope.” I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that life was never ever going to be back to anything I had ever dreamed, imagined, expected, or wished for. On an icy highway, life had been irreparably altered, changing forever the road I now walked upon. For nearly a decade that followed, the ongoing barrage of life defining moments dizzied me, while my prayers could not give voice to the aching depths or questions of my heart. Looking back now, it feels like watching my life as a movie scene. 

But  .... 

And this is the moment of big buts; in those life altering events we are held and supported by God in powerful ways. Those defining moments birth further moments in the successive days, months and even years that all play back to that big defining moment. Because as Brian McLaren says, the past walks with us in the present in more ways than we know. That past moment is ever present.

This month's question felt significant; partly, because I know I've faced life defining events, and because the successive defining moments all had a kind of glue that kept that event impacting forward. My mother once asked me ... “Jocelyn, do you think you would've gotten divorced if the accident hadn't happened?” No. Would I have moved to Australia without knowing a soul down under? Would I have written a book or two? No, No. Neither of those. Would I have adopted a drug addict as my surrogate daughter? Would I have retired from nursing early? No. No. Would I have felt emotionally safer being of no fixed address than living in my old hometown where everyone knew the story? No. Would I have felt the need to remove myself from church groups because some of those pat answers were too shallow? Would I now be traveling with (and married to) the doctor I used to work with? ... another big No. There are a thousand No's ... But, an equal number of YES's that have stemmed from that one big bang!

There are a lot of clichés and verses thrown about in regards to the value and benefit of suffering change. We are often encouraged to just trust the process and the God behind it ... to let the change change us, to make the best of it ... These are more easily said from those witnessing someone in tumultuous times, and often a very well meaning friend tosses in a reminder that “all things work together for good, to those that love the Lord,” overlooking the immense pain of past trauma. I continue to learn this. Sometimes I'm successful in identifying that what I over react to is because it links back to a deeper pain within. 

But, to end off more positively, I want to share some things that I have learned: The power of hope is strong; humans have a resilience that I would not have dreamed possible for myself; God walks alongside us in the worst of times. God's question that kept coming back to me was, “Will you trust me?” Will I trust you? And God, how can you expect me to trust you after what happened? Each time I stepped in that direction, it felt as though things worsened. Will I trust you? My answer had to be Yes, because the alternative was even worse. 

And now, almost seventeen years later, when I am asked if I will trust, (the question keeps coming up, because life continues) ...  I hesitate less and say, yes, I will trust you.  Each defining moment carries opportunity for a defining response ... and this filters down to the most ordinary of days. Each day holds an opportunity to live life as holy, to reclaim the power of my identity as a much loved child of God, and to make sense of the world. The control I once wanted has gone by the wayside ... and this brings both a loss and a freedom, when I realize how tenuous that perceived control really is. With less need for control, I allow wisdom and grace to enter.

I want to share the hope that has risen from the defining moment ... that life can be experienced as beautiful again, that the soul can grow larger even in the face of catastrophic loss. And that the comfort and presence of God can be experienced. Blessings to you as you face your defining moments. (If nothing else, you can be relieved that your day doesn't seem nearly as bad now.)

At The End Of The World by Bob Jones

 

Three words rocked our world. They weren’t unexpected.

 

She has cancer.

 

“It’s in her spleen, stomach, kidneys, and it looks like some spots on her lungs. I’m so sorry.” The ultrasound confirmed our worst fears. Jocelyn and I couldn’t look at each other. The drive  home was in heavy silence. We knew the next 24 hours would change everything. What are we going to do? How do we tell our boys? Why did it have to come to this? Again.

 

Anyone who never allowed a dog to become a part of the family won’t understand or appreciate the devastation of a terminal diagnosis. Lord knows, it’s just a dog. I mean no disrespect to those who suffered the loss of a loved one or face a terminal diagnosis. 

Anne Lamott is one of my favourite writers. Her dog died on October 4th. She wrote, "My beautiful pal passed away yesterday at home. She had (somehow) gotten old. She was the perfect person and had the most beautiful smile. It is the end of the world and I feel that I will never have a moment’s happiness again. You may know the feeling. Sigh."

 

"The end of the world."  Couldn't say it better. This was the third time with the exact same diagnosis. All were Golden Retrievers. They had names - Tammy. Sprite. Silver. Each one had a unique personality. All were love on four legs.

 

Ironically, when Jocelyn was diagnosed with cancer her despair wasn’t nearly as intense as when three of our dogs were stricken with cancer. We had to put each one down. The drive to the clinic was like walking down death row. Meeting with a vet drove up the anxiety level in each of our dogs and they were never happier than when we left a clinic to go home. Silver had no idea she was not coming out of the clinic alive. 

A few last moments alone with her in the vet’s treatment room allowed all the memories to flood in. The puppy training, balls to fetch, leashes, cuddling on the floor, the first time leaping into a lake, road trips, dog slobber. Just a few months before Silver's life came to an end, she travelled with us from Edmonton to cottage country in Ontario. A family vacation in the truest sense of the word.

 

The night before Silver’s last day was spent in the living room together. The leather couch was off limits for her except that night. There wasn’t much sleeping. With first light, she got her favourite treats. The struggle to get them down assured us we were making the right decision on her behalf. That didn’t make the decision any easier.

 

We didn’t get another puppy. That’s not a choice for everyone, but for us we couldn’t and still can’t bring ourselves to face the same outcome. We find our joy in other people’s dogs for now.

 

When a parent, spouse, child or someone close to us dies, our loss is usually met with sympathy, comfort, and sincere condolences. We are allowed to grieve. We are allowed to cry. We are encouraged to experience our emotions.

 

But pet owners who had a terminally ill dog euthanized, hear quite a different story. Many will tell you that most people did not understand the depth of their grief. Some even experienced the gross insensitivity of a comment like, “Why don’t you just get another pet?”

 

We didn’t just lose a pet. We lost unconditional love. Our Goldens gave us emotional responses that were uninhibited by concern for how their expression appeared to others. They did not judge insecurity or imperfection. They were all-accepting in ways few humans can achieve.

 

In many ways, Jocelyn lost a confidante. Silver allowed Jocelyn to express parts of herself that she never let friends see. During a period of upheaval and trauma, Silver provided Jocelyn with security, stability and comfort. Her neck was a safe place to shed tears.

 

Our Goldens were gifts from God. Creatures made in the Creator’s image and in many ways, reflective of the unconditional love and grace of God. Don't tell my pastoral superiors, but I believe all dogs go to heaven. We were guarded in talking about pet grief. Now, we share our gratitude for the love we experienced and a listening ear for those going  through a similar grief.

 

How about you?  Has your world been rocked by the death of a four-legged family member?  Lean into the grief. Reach out for comfort. Bob.pb.jones@gmail.com

 I write to grow hope, inspire people to be real, forge an authentic faith in Jesus, and discover their life purpose.

Please follow my writing at REVwords.com

I would love to hear from you.

Writing My Way Through Grief by Nina Faye Morey

My life has changed dramatically since I lost my loving husband and soulmate to cancer in April. Since then, I’ve found myself wandering through a desolate landscape filled with grief and loss, searching for the light that will lift me up out of this deep well of darkness.

I know that I must adapt my life to this new and challenging landscape, but my negative feelings—grief, fear, worry, anxiety, depression and loneliness—have caused me to lose my way. These debilitating emotions have also made it next to impossible for me to write. However, I’ve slowly come to realize that if I can refocus my writing to address my grief and loss, it may shed some light on my feelings that will help me work my way through this grieving process.

The empty page seems like a safe and comfortable place to pour out my feelings, but it requires a willingness to delve deep into this darkness that envelopes me. I will need to face my feelings of grief and loss, my fears, my worries, and my anxieties. I’ll need to summon the inner strength to explore and deal with the overwhelming emotions that writing about my grief evokes. I know it will not be easy. But if I’m brave enough, the process of writing may offer some relief from my sorrow and provide the healing needed to find my way out of this deep well of darkness.

While writing my way through grief may offer some measure of release and healing, my main source of comfort still comes through Bible study and prayer. I know that I do not have to deal with these feelings of grief and loss alone. Psalm 34:18 (NIV) assures me that “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I can rely on Him and His word to provide me with the comfort, peace, strength, guidance, and support that I need. Jesus promises “Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). If I pour out my grief to Him through prayer, I know that He will be faithful to heal my broken heart and bind up my wounds (Psalm 147:3). When I am afraid, I can ask Him to calm my fears and give me “the peace of God, which transcends all understanding (Philippians 4:7).

Although writing my way through grief may be therapeutic, helping me to cope with my negative thoughts and feelings, I know that ultimately it is through faith and prayer that God will rescue me from this deep well of darkness and lift me up into the glory of His light once more.

My Christmas Promise by Alan Anderson

“…whereas you do not know about tomorrow. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.”—James 4:14

“but Jesus said, Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”— Matthew 19:14 RSV.

This December post is one I am compelled to write. There are lighter or more fun messages on my heart yet I must present this one. You see, I made a promise to five little children I never met, yet love.

In my Dec. 22, 2015 post, I dedicated it to my four grandbabies that never made it to birth. Not too long after it became five babies to be remembered. Terry and I have six grandchildren who live close by and we love each of them. As a grandfather I am also mindful of the five in heaven. In my grief I promised these children I would never forget them. They matter to me. This post is part of my promise.

Just as in December 2015, my mind bounces from the joy of the birth of Jesus to the cries of parents. They are the parents who grieve the absence of little ones they looked forward to. Grandparents grieve as well for these babies.

In July 2017 I began a Facebook group for grandparents grieving the death of a grandchild. I keep the size of the group manageable by capping membership to seventy-five. The grandchildren the group remembers were not all babies when they died. A vast number of the group mourns in a deep way for their grandchildren. This is especially so during the Christmas season. Each of them made a promise to never forget these grandchildren. Grief is what bonds us together.

Even at Christmas time there is suffering and loss. This time of year is not magical where only smiles and laughter are enjoyed. There are poignant memories taking up residence in my mind and heart. They are a continual prompt for the tone of my writing. I never want these memories to fade. They are reminders of the frailty and vulnerability of life. Life, indeed, is but a vapour, a mist!

When I consider life I tend to become contemplative. To reflect on life and the fact this life is not all there is invites me to look toward the life to come. To meditate in a silent setting I try to grasp the beauty of the Christmas season. Immanuel, God with us, staggers my mind yet also blesses my heart.

My grief wrapped in the love of God, helps soften the sting of it. I do not grieve as one without hope. My grief over the pregnancy losses of my grandchildren does not take God by surprise. My grandchildren are among the citizens of heaven.

Every Christmas season reminds me to cherish life. I am not promised tomorrow therefore, I say glory to God for each day He grants me. I am aware as I become older of how every breath I take is a gift.

Perhaps this post only speaks to me. From my point of view my promise to my grandchildren in heaven is a serious one. As I wrote in 2015,

… these children have not vanished away.  They live in my heart!  They live also where Jesus is!  ….  Children who are not granted physical birth do not cease to exist.  They are not “miscarriages”!  They are not really lost!  This is a belief of hope found in the One who came to earth and was born as a baby.  The One who loves children.

To all my InScribe family, bless you, my friends. You are loved with an everlasting love. Merry Christmas to you and your families.

https://scarredjoy.ca/

Living With and Rejoicing in Hope .... Jocelyn Faire

Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. 

These three beautiful phrases provide a safe nest for a hurting heart. This verse invites rather than commands, as though Paul is letting us know in the kindest way that God is for us. This is His wise encouragement on how best to get through the tough times. 

How can I even begin to express to people what Hope has done for me? Three years ago, I led a grief seminar where a woman said to me, “You use the word hope a lot, what do you mean by it?”This was an open seminar and even though the host was Christian she advised me that most of the attendees were not. Each of the group members had significant recent loss. I was thrown off a bit with the question and recognized that hope is a term we believers toss around thinking others have a similar definition for it. I explained that for me hope had a spiritual component to it, hope was what allowed me to believe that there was still an expectation of having something to look forward to. And for myself, I knew that who or what we put our hope in is what really matters. Hope in God gives me confidence that whatever I go through, I will not go through it alone. That is worth rejoicing over. That is what gives me an inner smile; because I do not grieve as those who have no hope. Life is very tough when you have lost hope. Hope grows in the shadows, and shadows are dispensed by the son-light. 

Hope is a gift to be shared. Recently on a return visit to Alberta and the condo I lived in for five years, I met Elysse. We had lived in the same building for five years. I knew her as the owner of the trendy consignment store I loved to shop. She knew me as a client and a friendly neighbour. I said hello to her as she sat in the lobby waiting for someone at the door. She made some reference to not having seen me ... a bit more chit chat followed ... then she said: “since my daughter died” ... at which point I stood up and asked “Can I give you a hug? I know what it is like to lose a daughter.” Conversation and support followed. She asked questions of me, I spoke from the heart, I held her hand, I told her I knew how hard it was ... she spilled out more and more. Several people walked by us in the lobby, some in curious stare, others ignoring us. I sat close to her, frequently rubbed her shoulder. This was a holy moment, God and I knew it. My heart breaks when I hear a mother open up with her loss of a young adult child/any age child, and I want that mother to know that she is not alone in this struggle. She has others who have gone through this. The outcome is not mine to know, she just needs the message of love, encouragement and caring support for her hurting heart. 

Patience in tribulation. Tribulation means different things, but it always is a painful and difficult time. Chaim Potok says: One learns of the pain of others by suffering one's own pain, my father would say, by turning inside oneself, by finding one's own soul. And it is important to know of pain. I cannot claim to have patience in tribulation, I just know that the pain of grief is like a shadow that hangs around even on a sunny day.

Although I know I will never feel as if I am constant enough in prayer, I do believe that prayer is the key we have been given to unlock heaven's door for inner sanity and peace. 

With the help of the spirit, these three phrases invite me to experience the strength to live with hope in the everyday ordinary aspects of a life filled with reasons to rejoice. May my words, written or spoken reflect this. 

Seeking Beauty .... by Jocelyn Faire

I don't think of all the misery

but of the beauty that still remains.

  Anne Frank

Often when asked to give a self-descriptor, I have listed myself as a seeker of beauty …

I join David in Psalm 27:4
One thing I ask from the Lord,
this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
and to seek him in his temple

Simone Weil has said that two things that pierce the soul are beauty and suffering. When I ponder and experience these two, I know that both draw my soul to God; and I know beyond a doubt that the beauty in my life is what has kept me afloat many a time. While beauty may be in the eyes of the beholder, it is also the universal gift created by God to nudge us into relation with Him and dependence on Him. To clarify when I speak of beauty I mean that essence which takes your breath away, the things that move our souls. Suffering also draws us to Him, but in a much more painful way. Suffering feels inflicted more than gifted.

Beauty in nature is especially captivating. When I find a tiny flower in a forlorn spot, wildflowers in Australia, or watch the sunset over the oceans deep, a canola field in bloom next to blue flax in Manitoba; when I kayak a clear lake, or sit in the majesty of the Rocky Mountains, or spot the tiny blossom that sprouts from pavement cracks, my heart is aware that this is reminder of the hand of God in all places. 

In The Journey of Desire, John Eldredge nails it on the head for me ... he tells the story of a woman sitting in his office for counsel, years after a rape. She depicts the devastation which has lingered .... he notices an embroidered flower on her shirt; at its mention she speaks of beauty. It has been the only thing that has helped her cope in life. Sometimes she had to sit in the presence of beauty to allow her breath to continue. In proportion to the grief, I have needed the solace of beauty in my journey to life again.

Some days when the sun shines brightly I can wonder how could it ever have been so dark? Then I meet up with someone else who has lost a child, and I know that deep pain alongside them, I sense that looming black hole. These encounters remind me of the verses in 2 Cor 1, of sharing comfort for people in hard times, as God has done for me. My friend Dorothy tells me that my frequent reference to beauty in ordinary places has had her eyes open wide to it as well. I want to encourage others and myself to sense God's presence in all situations; His beauty is healing.

Finding flowers in remote spots is my evidence of God's ubiquitous grace. I wonder who will ever see them? Then I ask ... did you place this here just for me? Was that rainbow a reminder for me at the right time? At times the answer seems yes it was for me-it certainly was what I needed. At the same time I am aware that these events of beauty happen all around us. Beauty is heaven and earth's creative way of declaring the glory of the Lord.

Lord keep the eyes of my heart open ...
If I could put beauty to paper, images to word
paint to canvas, music to rhythm ...
If I could snap the right photo,
Hold a hand in time, seize the waterfall,
Even the dandelion pulled out as a weed
holds more beauty than words can tell
Tree of Life, Beauty of Love ...

Lord, I am left speechless, but not without beauty.

Searching through my photos for this post reminded me that God has continually surrounded me with His beauty, with His presence because it is found everywhere, in all countries, all climates. Flowers blossom both in the garbage heap and on spectacular coastlines.

Let me include three lines from my poem:

What are you looking for?
I'm looking for me, I am looking for You
I'm looking amidst beauty, because that is where I want to be found.

You're Going To Be OK by Bob Jones

There is beauty in brokenness. Broken things can be restored. And so can broken people.

As NJ Lindquist says, “what could be more beautiful than people becoming what God intended them to be and having some small part as a writer in their transformation.”

When holding my favorite fountain to begin crafting the stories of fighters, I hear a voice. Some Christian writers hear the Holy Spirit’s voice.  I hear Barry Manilow. The lyric, “I write the songs that make the whole world sing” morphs into, “I write the heroics that give the whole world hope.”

Hope is the anchor of the soul. What broken people have in common is a need for hope. Against a tsunami of suffering, an anchor of hope can secure one more day of life.

You feel overwhelmed.

Scared.

Fighting for air.

If your world is a mess it doesn’t mean that you have to be one.

You were in our thoughts and our prayers when Jocelyn and I wrote the book, You’re Going To Be OK. We share stories of eleven women who fight cancer, sexual abuse, mental illness and loss. The stories are true. Truth sets people free. The opening story is about a woman in her forties who has fought all four Goliaths.

A book or a short story – your short story - can be an answer to someone’s prayer. That’s why I encourage fledgling writers to start with telling their story. Just a week ago I had breakfast with a pastor in Manitoba named Jake who wants to be a writer. He told me his story.

“Writers write. Start with your story, Jake. Your experiences can be the healing words for a reader. Put your tears, the fears and the divine encounters down on paper.”

There is one thing You’re Going To Be OK offers you.

Without this one thing even the smallest tasks, let alone life and death issues are impossible.

Without this one thing couples give up on their marriage, parents give up on their teens, leaders give up on their people, people give up on their future.

You can survive for 40 days without food, about 3 days without water, and about 8 minutes without air.

You don’t want to go a single second without this one thing.

That one thing is HOPE.

That’s why Jocelyn and I envision ourselves as hope dispensers. We've experienced the power of hope in our lives and are sharing it freely with others.

Your anchor of hope is available through Amazon.ca.

I am a recovering perfectionist who collects Coca-Cola memorabilia and drinks iced tea. My walls are adorned with our sons’ framed football jerseys, and my bookshelves, with soul food. 

I write to grow hope, inspire people to be real, forge an authentic faith in Jesus, and discover their life purpose.

You can follow my writing at REVwords