4 Ways that God Surprised Me in the Night: Here’s What Happened When I Searched for Found Things

I ache because my friend Aubrey Sampson, who I admire and adore, has walked through heart-wrenching grief. A truly incredible writer and thinker, my heart swells when I see how God uses her suffering to comfort others on the trail. Her new book, What We Find in the Dark: Loss, Hope, and God’s Presence in Grief, reveals the raw pain that Aubrey processed in the early stages after her best friend’s death. I wish this cup was not hers to bear, but it is, and it is an absolute honor to welcome my sweet friend Aubrey to the farm’s table today…

Guest Post by Aubrey Sampson

When you’re sadder, lonelier, and more confused than you have ever been, when loss has stolen your person, your dreams, your will, and your faith, when you are on a precipice—go on a hunt for found things.

“Things Found in the Dark” is more than a clunky list. For the heartbroken night-wanderer, a list of found things is a way to tune our souls to the sound of God.

A list of found things is a tiny way for the disengaged to gently reengage with life.

A list of found things is faith when you have none. 

Here are the first four items on mine: 

1. The letter

One afternoon, a few weeks after my best friend Jenn’s passing, we arrive home after spending time with her family, and there is an envelope lying out on the middle of my kitchen island. An envelope with Jenn’s familiar loopy handwriting on it. 

It is an old card, sent a couple of years ago. It begins with “My precious friend.” In it, Jenn is thanking me for loving her family and taking care of her when she was first diagnosed with cancer. It is full of soft, kind words. 

“God surprises us in the dark night, letting us know we are seen. “

This card wasn’t there before we went to see Jenn’s boys. But it is here now. 

Before Jenn died, we joked about her haunting people. She said, “I would never do that; I would never scare anyone.” So I don’t think this is a haunting. Maybe the wind blew the letter from its resting place in my kitchen, or maybe someone put it there and forgot. 

I might sound superstitious or crazy. But maybe the veil between here and her is thin. Maybe God’s love reaches across that invisible boundary line, reminding us that we are seen and not alone in our pain. 

I jot this down on my list: God surprises us in the dark night, letting us know we are seen. 

2. Directives from friends

I spend the week before Jenn’s funeral fretting that I don’t have the right bra or outfit or shoes to wear. So I try to go shopping. 

Do not go shopping in early grief. You will make decisions like a zombie, but a zombie with big emotions, a zombie in a grief fog. You will make bad decisions. 

I end up buying seven pairs of black boots to try on with the dress I am planning to wear for the funeral. Not one. Not two. Seven. 

I know I am not searching for items; I am searching for Jenn. I am looking for hope. 

“God provides us with wise people of clarity, friends who help us take a next small step.“

I finally text my friend Hollie for help: 

I can’t make a decision. 

Which boots should I get?

I can’t keep all seven. 

I think I have grief brain. 

She responds, Get the leather boots with the zipper and move on. Those are cute. Get some tights and try them on with your black dress and your camo sweater. We’ll all be wearing camo to honor Warrior Wednesday. That’s a good outfit for the funeral. 

Then, 

Be kind to yourself. 

Clarity from friends. Is this the sound of God’s love in the dark night, too? I write this down so I will remember it: In grief, God provides us with wise people of clarity, friends who help us take a next small step. 

3. The hawk

It’s Galentine’s Day. Jenn’s holiday.

This was her day to celebrate the women in her life, especially the single moms. Today sucker-punches me. But I have to pull myself together to go to work. 

As I back out of my driveway, I notice a hawk perched on my front porch railing, just staring at my front door. Later, a friend stops by my house and sends me a photo. Did you know there is a hawk staring at your house? This afternoon, the hawk has moved to the tree in my front yard, still watching my house. The next day it is gone. I haven’t seen it since. 

“God gives us signs and wonders.“

That same friend sends me a text, “Do you know the hawk is often considered a sign from heaven, a sign of protection?” 

And look, I know, I know. There was probably an unsuspecting mouse or squirrel that my hawk was hunting. And there’s all these theological debates about “signs from beyond.” 

But also, maybe God does this kind of inexplicable thing especially when we hurt so deeply. So I add this to my list of found things: God gives us signs and wonders. Some might think these are just coincidences.

But I don’t.

Not today. 

4. Sabbath delight

Today, on a girls’ trip to a mountain resort just outside Seattle, I am sabbathing with my dear friends closest to Jenn besides me. As I look back on the day we spent together: 

I wrote outside in the morning while drinking coffee. 

We went on a hike, soaking in the creation-beauty of the mountains. 

We went to lunch and visited a local bookstore. 

“Stillness, surrender, pleasure, playfulness—these can be found in our dark nights when we are ready for them. “

We drove around looking at the Pacific Northwest’s luscious scenery, the rivers, the mountains, the farmlands. 

We actually threw axes. (I hit several bullseyes. Like, I might be a natural ax thrower). 

We laughed and played and ate a backyard dinner of charcuterie. 

We ended our sabbath with an evening ride on electric scooters and a hot tub sit. 

It was a full day, but not a busy day. The hours were luxurious. And I haven’t rested in so long. Since Jenn died, my internal motor has been on, always on, driving me even while in idle. This has been my body’s defense against time, against grief. 

I add this to my list as well: Stillness, surrender, pleasure, playfulness—these can be found in our dark nights when we are ready for them.

My list of lost things is longer than my list of found things, or at least it’s heavier, weighted on that side.

But I have these found things, and they have given me a taste for more.

Sometimes the dark nights of life and faith have strange gifts.

In What We Find in the Dark, award-winning author and pastor Aubrey Sampson writes through the illness and death of her best friend of over twenty-five years, offering raw, real, and fought-for spiritual wisdom and practical insights for loss, grief, and doubt. What We Find in the Dark not only helps us locate ourselves on the journey but gives honesty, hope, and direction for what’s ahead. You do not need to walk this path alone. Learn to navigate through the darkness while holding onto hope. 

Aubrey Sampson (MA, evangelism and leadership) co-planted and serves as a teaching pastor at Renewal Church, a multiethnic congregation in Chicagoland. She is passionate about helping hurting Christians find God’s presence in their pain, and speaks at churches and conferences around the country. She is an award-nominated author, a coach with Propel Cohorts, and the cohost of The Nothing Is Wasted Podcast. Aubrey is the author of several books, most recently What We Find in the Dark: Loss, Hope, and God’s Presence in Grief, and the children’s book, Big Feelings Days: A Book about Hard Things, Heavy Emotions, and Jesus’ Love. She and her husband, Kevin, and their three hilarious sons live, minister, and play in the Chicagoland area. You can connect with Aubrey on her website, aubreysampson.com, and on social media @aubsamp.

{Our humble thanks to NavPress for their partnership in today’s devotional.}