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“Hey, that’s where great-grandpa and grandma live!” My kids excitedly point to the senior housing community as we drive by, and instead of correcting them, I nod in agreement and choke back tears. My husband’s grandfather passed away a couple of months ago, but it still feels as though he’d be standing at the door, eager to welcome us in if we were to visit.
Death is such a strange thing. It is at once final and yet … not. And grief after death lingers with no end.
I’m surprised by my sadness, and I chide myself for not being over it yet. After all, do I have a right to be so sad when I had only known him for the last 10 years of his 90 years of life? Should I still be crying when I was just his granddaughter-in-law? I wrestle with these questions, but in a moment of grace toward myself, I push away the critic’s voice in my head and let the tears run down my cheeks.
These days, loss is compounded by more loss. I attend a funeral and watch a mother weep as she buries her daughter. I notice the weariness in people’s eyes — in my own eyes — as we try to figure out how to make it through another day. I hear the fear and anxiety that uncertainty brews. I lament in anger for Black mothers and fathers and children who are not safe sleeping in their beds, going for a run, making mistakes and being human.
Each death, each act of violence, each oppressed silencing and each loss feels like waves crashing over me, and I am overwhelmed. I don’t know if I can swim to the surface to catch a breath or find a way to the shore. I long for solid ground, to lie still and rest, and I cry out to God — How much longer, Lord?
My strength is made weak by the constant barrage of what this year keeps throwing at us, and in my helplessness, I remember Jesus’ words to His disciples in John 16:33: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
I repeat the verse over and over, and in His words, I hear truth and hope. The truth is that we will have trouble in this world. We will face abandonment, loneliness, hatred and death. Out of love and kindness, Jesus wants us to be aware rather than surprised when these things happen; they are to be expected.
Then, He gives this two-fold promise of hope: First, when everything is chaos, we can have peace in Him. Second, we can be encouraged because Christ has already overcome the world.
We can get through hard things because we follow a God who has gone through every hard thing and has come out of it victoriously. When we are weary and we feel like we can’t take another hit, we can be encouraged. We can overcome. Christ has gone before us, and in Him, our weaknesses are the platforms from which His power shines.
Take heart, friend. We have a God who understands, who has endured and who helps us to do the same.
God, thank You for the hope we can have when everything feels like too much. Your promises are more than silver linings; they are anchors of assurance. Thank You for being with us, entering into our pain and empowering us to persevere. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
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