The Kind of Grief that No One Brings You Flowers for -

We all like things in boxes; thoughts, emotions, plans, purposes. But what about when there is a kind of grief, the deep and inconsolable kind, that can’t be fixed with flowers?

Grief of a loved one; you patted their brow, pulled up their blanket, you tended them well…but there was hardly any fanfare when they left.
Grief over the loss of your health. Your youth. Your job. Your vitality. Your dreams.
Grief over a miscarried child. A dismantled marriage.
Grief over a family member you are estranged from, or partner who betrayed you.
Grief over a foster child leaving, or two, or three…or a dozen.
Grief over a world that promised everything, but left you struggling….just to pay the bills.

In a world of cancer and toxic people, silent struggles and premature passing children; sometimes it’s hard to put certain kinds of loss into some kind of little box, wrapping it up with nice sounding phrases, before handing it off into some casket and lowering it into a grave.

In the last decade, especially, I think we have all been so isolated, especially in our grief; because, well, the world is grieving too and it’s like we don’t want to bother anybody.

For example, many people have experienced; a worldwide pandemic, the loss of someone significant, the division in our culture, polarizing politics, financial burdens caused by the consequences of what we have ALL been through.

But then, add in ordinary, everyday losses. What do we do when our arms get full, and grief keeps coming like a firehose, pulling us into its undercurrent? How do we stay afloat? How do we survive?

Do we just plaster on another smile and walk into church, or our workplace, and answer the age old question, ‘How are you doing?” with our usual, well worn, contradictory lie…

“I am fine.”

Disenfranchised Grief

Let’s face it, there is also a kind of grief that doesn’t get flowers. We struggle to name it, others seem resistant to it and we as recipients, don’t want to claim it.

It’s the kind of grief the world is often blind to and others often fail to label. It is called, “Disenfranchised Grief”.

And yet, it deserves to be acknowledged; because every dream, every person regardless of how small, and every hope and belief system has the right to be respected…

Even if the world doesn’t walk alongside us or acknowledge specific kinds of grief.

You are NOT alone

If you are a Believer, you also know, our Savior experienced grief. He wept. The shortest verse in the Bible was when his friend named Lazarus died. Yet, Jesus knew he would soon be resurrected.

The Bible says, “Jesus wept”.

Any loss, regardless of how big or small, regardless of whether the world acknowledges it or not; deserves its own time and space to be processed.

Yet, often in our culture, we like to wrap things in a bow, make a cute little reels out of them, photoshop and edit them, to make them teachable, or marketable. When the reality is, grief is hard, and often, it just isn’t beautiful.

There is nothing pretty about grief.

Grief surfaces, like an unwanted friend, when you least expect it; when the shades are shut, your world goes quiet, or when a mirrored image pulls you back into that place that brings you pain.
Grief holds us, like an unwanted captive to the past; when God has called us to stay present, and to be hopeful about our future.
And grief lingers. It can linger in our hearts and minds. It can remain for moments, days or even a lifetime…if we do not find a way to let it go.

We can remember our childhoods, and be thrust back into pain, like a wave throwing us onto the rocks, time and time again, by some nasty, unseen, undercurrent.

You want to stand. You want to surf; but like an undercurrent, grief holds us, and we can be left to silently spin, under the surface, where nobody sees.

Moving Forward

So, how do we move forward when there is a certain kind of grief that asks us to hold on. When the hands of our heart are clenched tight, and we refuse to grab hold of hope?

If we were honest, we are often afraid of letting go. We never want that memory, that person, or that dream to leave us permanently. It is then…

It can be as if WE become the very saviors of what may have given us comfort from the past.
It can be as if WE are the sole survivors of a life that was never meant to last.
It can be as if, if WE let them fade, every second, every moment, and every memory will have never mattered.

But that is a lie.

Grief can fade while love still remains. Forgiveness can be gained, while pain still claims its stake, and time has yet to heal.

Again, we want all or nothing, too often. We want all grief, with no hope. All hope, with no grief. All freedom, without the memories. All our dreams, without any loss, dangling along the way.

But Jesus, he held grief for Lazarus, for Mary and Martha, his sisters; yet He also held hope.

While human nature wants grief in a box, neatly discarded and put away; the Son of God could hold two thoughts simultaneously. He could hold his dreams for humanity, along with pain and suffering.

Yet, us as fallible humans, often want just one or the other.

Jesus could know tomorrow and had already planned Lazarus’ resurrection. Yet, He was still fully present in the emotion that surrounded him.

Some kinds of grief we may never receive flowers for.

As a foster parent of twenty years, we’ve had kids for years and years, and then never saw them again. But, we still keep fostering.
A friend lost her infant and now has a ministry walking alongside bereaved parents. Grief didn’t stop them.
Jesus grieved at the Garden of Gethsemane and yet, still completed His mission, making His way to the cross.

We must not be afraid of grief, we must not despise it; because some well intended blind person came up to us and said, “If we still have grief, we must not have enough faith.”

Did Jesus lack faith; and yet, He grieved. So, why can’t we?

The road to the cross always includes grief. Not the kind of grief that lacks hope. Not the grief that leaves us trapped in a box and buried under the earth, struggling to get out and breath…

But the kind of grief that also holds onto hope.

A grief that says, “Yes, something happened, but even if I feel like I might die from this grief, there is glory waiting on the other side of suffering.”

There is a kind of beauty that can actually be held alongside difficulty. There is a plan of redemption that comes from the waves as they throw us against the Rock of Ages.

I have known the hardships of grief; the kind that can’t be seen, the kind where no one brings you flowers. And my guess is, you have felt it too. Yet, my hope is even more steadfast today, because of my faith in Jesus.

Whatever God takes away, God somehow also redeems; like a seed that falls to the ground and brings greater beauty, because it was cracked vulnerable, became raw, and laid wide open.

The promise of a Savior that died so we might live, burns within us. He meets us when we are alone. He walks with us in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. And because of Him, we can have hope.

We need not fear.

Yes, grief seems to swallow us, at times. But life, hope, and the Resurrection are also immeasurably near.

He is an anchor we can cling to. He is a promise we can hold onto, when the waves seem to toss us to and fro.

And because of His promise; we don’t need the validation of the world for our grief. We don’t need casseroles or condolences, flowers, or even acknowledgements. We just need a Savior named Jesus who promises to never leave us.

And while, yes, the waves of grief can come unexpectedly, still felt down deep as they seem to crush us; we must still fix our eyes on The Light overhead. He promises us tomorrow. He promises to give us our daily bread.

He will never change. And He is always listening.

Let’s bring our unseen and disenfranchised grief to Him.