Navigating loss, grief, and disappointment while trying to keep your faith intact

If I had to define the status of my relationship with God in recent weeks, I think I’d peg it as “it’s complicated.”

I grew up going to Sunday school and loved reading my Beginner’s Bible regularly. I knew all the words to “This Little Light of Mine” and “’Jesus Loves Me,” and VeggieTales was a regular staple in my VHS rotation.

But even more than knowing about God, I’ve always felt truly connected with Him, even from a very young age. I have walked with Him as an intimate friend and known Him as a loving Father.

Entering into adulthood, some questions started to arise about some of the beliefs I’d held concerning my faith (another post for another day!), but even in all my questioning I still never doubted God Himself and who He said He was. I knew His character and He had shown Himself undeniably faithful countless times throughout my life.

Of course, there were many times my faith was challenged and He answered prayers differently than I expected (in hindsight I’ve been thankful for that!), but He has always been a constant in my life – one that I simply knew too well to question.

Until August 9th, 2020

2 months (to the day) prior, my father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer. It came as a complete shock and blindsided our entire family.

Once the news settled in a bit I told my husband, basically, “this is awful, and it may be a marathon, but I have no doubt that he will get through this.”

Many people overcome cancer, and if anyone could do it it would be my father-in-law. A young (only 58 years old) pastor deeply secured in his faith, a husband, father, and “Pop” to 9 grandchildren; with so much to live for he will surely come out on the other side of this whole and healed.

Because, God heals.

Jesus healed the sick and tells us to do the same. He gave his very life and declared “it is finished.” No doubt His will for my father-in-law is wholeness.

The weeks that followed were a rapid, brutal downward spiral for him. Even still, we all stood firm in our belief that God would heal him, despite the horror we were seeing unfold in front of us.

Then, just after 4am on August 9^th my husband’s phone rang. I knew instantly why the phone was ringing, yet hoped desperately that I was wrong. After a few seconds my husband hung up the phone and confirmed the worst news we had ever received: his dad had passed.

The following hours and days were a blur, yet somehow seemed to crawl by.

How could this have happened? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Where was God in this? Have I been completely wrong about Him? Maybe all of my beliefs had been way off base, and if so, then what is even true?

My mind was spinning with questions, and the more I spoke with those closest to me, the more I realized I was definitely not alone in this.

In order to give each other time and space to process, my husband and I took turns going for walks around our neighborhood while the other stayed home with our 2 young kids.

A day or 2 after my father-in-law’s passing when it was my turn to walk, I found myself sitting on the sidewalk sobbing and ultimately asking God why He lied to me. At least that’s how it felt.

I know we are not the only ones to experience devastation and heartbreak.

We have witnessed and walked with people through unthinkable tragedy and are not naïve to think that this life is a field of daisies and rainbows. I know well that serving God does not equal a life without pain, and He is not a genie to grant our every wish.

Still though, I felt pretty confident that healing was His jam, and that surely someone who had sacrificed so much of his life to serve Him would be pretty high up on the “ones to heal” list.

Of course I’m being somewhat facetious since we know God is no respecter of persons, I’m just giving you a glimpse into where my line of thinking was at the time.

Well, it clearly didn’t happen.

I know anger is one of the stages of grief, and I did spend a good bit of time there in those early days; but mostly what I felt was disappointed. Disappointed and utterly heartbroken.

Heartbroken at the passing of our dear father, our kids’ grandfather, our pastor and mentor, yes. But even more so, for the first time ever in my 33 years, I felt heartbroken by God. He had never let me down. Ever.

What was I to do with this? What happens when the only One who can heal my heart is ultimately the One who (seemingly) broke it?

Only He could bring beauty from ashes and give a garment of praise for my heaviness.

Only He could restore my tattered, weary soul.

• 

Recently, on one of my many walks I decided to listen to a familiar song that I hadn’t heard in quite some time. As I let myself sink into the lyrics, they struck me in a whole new way in light of my current grief.

These words hit me the hardest:

Even when the fight seems lost
I’ll praise you
Even when it hurts like hell
I’ll praise you
Even when it makes no sense to sing
Louder then I’ll sing your praise _{^{(Hillsong United)}}

There is a reason Hebrews 13:15 refers to a “sacrifice of praise.” Regardless of circumstances, and even when we don’t “feel” it, His worthiness is unchanging.

Tears flowed freely as I was surrounded by the truth that He is a good, good Father. He is Love, and so deserving of all praise and adoration.

Where else could I possibly run except straight into His loving arms?

Immediately this passage from Psalm 139 came to mind:

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
 If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me.

No matter how badly I want to scream (and oh, I have), and dig my heels into anger; no matter how blatant the seeming contradiction of my circumstances, there is nowhere I can turn to escape His everlasting love, nor do I even want to try.

A few days after his dad’s passing, my husband made a statement that has stuck with me since.

He said, “the way I see it, there are 3 options in front of us:

1. God does not exist.

2. He does exist, but He’s a monster.

3. He is real, and He’s exactly who He says He is.

I think we already know the one true option.”

I may wrestle. I may cry (scratch that – I definitely will), but I simply know too much to seek comfort elsewhere, or worse, to let myself go down the bottomless pit of darkness and despair.

And so we begin the journey of picking up the pieces and figuring out how to move forward from here.

As is often the case in the wake of tragedy, we have far more questions than answers.

These are uncharted waters for us and we are still very much in the “things are no longer what they once were, but are not yet what they will be” stage. It’s awkward and weird and I often find myself squirming from the immense discomfort. I suspect it may feel this way for a little while.

In the meantime, as we continue to grapple with unspeakable heartache and looming uncertainty, we rest in the comfort that we do not grieve as those who are without hope, and that with each shaky, awkward step forward we will hear a voice behind us saying, “this is the way, walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:21)

Amidst all of my unanswered questions I am choosing to lean with all my might into this one unshakeable, unchanging truth that I’ve been deeply convicted of from a very young age:

God is good.

He loves us, and His love never fails.

If that is the only thing I know for certain right now, I will choose to let that be enough.