Arguing With God and Myself – A Man’s Journey Through Grief continued, #10
The other morning I pondered again the enigma of grief. On the one hand I am to draw closer to God that He may become my “all-in-all.” That seems to mean that memories of my wife are to fade and be overtaken by an all-consuming love for God. On the other hand, I feel her loss keenly and don’t want to lose the memories I have of her. Am I to grit my teeth, still my tears and return to “normal” but a more “spiritual normal”?
Our culture seems to expect this latter goal—getting over grief speedily. Of course, it doesn’t care whether I become more “religious” or not. But I do, in the best sense of the term. In other cultures, and in other ages there were symbols of grief that the bereaved wore to signal their condition and ease them through the difficult first year. At this time in history, western culture leaves us to chart our own path.
I know that my faith community doesn’t expect me to dress in black. I’m probably imagining things, but I sense that many, even in my faith community, expect me to soon become “normal.” They may laud my “courage”, the “control of my emotions” and the way I’m trying to keep busy. But shouldn’t I, as a trained and experienced Christian worker be finding God, who is better than a wife, becoming my “all in all?” Shouldn’t I be expecting that our gracious Lord—whose love is infinitely deeper than the deepest human love—would swallow up my grief in His tender embrace? Do they expect me to return to “normal”: but on a much higher spiritual level? Let me just say at this point, that I’m speaking as a fool. These imaginings and self-discussions are probably due to my over-sensitive nature. Many people have been extremely understanding.
To get back to my main point, as I look back over the last five months, I can say that I have been drawing closer to the Lord, or He to me. I have more of a sense of His love and grace; I feel He is near; I talk to Him more. And I know that He listens as I cry out to Him. Without the Lord’s presence and grace, I don’t see how I could have come this far. But am I to replace Mary Helen in my thoughts with a new and deeper relationship with God?
It’s the memories, I argue. The feelings. The sense of loss. The aloneness. Does God want that to go away, to be absorbed by drawing “nearer my God to thee?” Lord, do you want me to stop thinking of her? Do you want me to stop remembering? Do you want me to hide her pictures? Is it abnormal or even unspiritual to cherish her memory?
Helen Lemmel, in that wonderful hymn, “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus,” writes; “Look full in His wonderful face and the things of earth will grow strangely dim. In the Light of His glory and grace.” Lord, is that my goal to look forward to a time when memories of Mary Helen grow dim? Am I to actively seek that?
Many of the hymn writers seem to give that impression. Jane Bonar writes, “Fade, fade, each earthly joy; Jesus is mine. Break every tender tie; Jesus is mine”. Yes, death has broken my physical tie with Mary Helen but only for a season. Lord am I to break the tender tie in my memories? Am I to let the memories fade?
There is certainly a measure of truth here. Sarah Adams writes, “Nearer my God to thee…Out of my stony griefs…So by my woes to be nearer my God to Thee…”
People say that time heals all ills. Am I to expect that of death? That memories fade into forgetfulness? That human love is swallowed up by divine love? Can I not have both?
Surely, Lord there is a compromise. You summarized all the commandments as loving God and loving our neighbour. If there is room for our neighbour, I know you—who created marriage—has room for us to love our spouse even in death. Now, I know that she is no longer physically present. I know heaven is ahead. I know from what others in grief have said, that the pain gradually eases. And I realize that humanly speaking our memories dim and a new equilibrium takes over our days. Hopefully, that easing of grief will lead to a growing nearness to God.
But how do I dispel my memories of our love while I seek to love you more? Perhaps, her home-going has cleared my life of the complications brought on by human love so that I can concentrate on loving You more. But if so, Lord, you’ll have to help me find a compromise in which I can keep her memories alive and shed tears from time to time. I know I’m speaking foolishly but do you see my dilemma?
(These vulnerable descriptions of the process of my grief are posted to help others going through similar tests.)
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