Hey Grief, It’s Been A While

I wanted to wait to write and post this blog. Originally, I was going to sit down and write down my thoughts on grief closer to a sentimental day. In this case, that day was going to be my dad’s birthday on June 18th. But circumstances led me to write sooner rather than later.

Because grief doesn’t hit you just on an anniversary or a birthday. At least you expect it to show up on those days. No, grief is most often an unexpected visitor, one that shows up at any time it desires. And for me, grief decided to pay a visit yesterday, during an incredibly beautiful and fun day spent with a Kyrgyz family. Did I mention that grief can creep in even during some of the most joy-filled days? Because it most definitely can.

But anyways, yesterday I went with my friends, Emily and Susanna, to visit an English student that we met and her family. She and her sweet father greeted us in the town square, then drove us out to their nearby village. Upon our arrival, we were greeted with a full table of food. Potato pastries, salads, fruit, bread, homemade jams, candies, and cakes (they provided all of this for us as they are fasting for Ramadan, too!). After lunch, we drove to Issyk-kul Lake, one of the largest lakes in the world. We returned back “home” to even MORE food, and we had some sweet conversations with the family as our kind friend, Ramida, translated for us.

During conversation, the father gets up and brings us three traditional Kyrgyz hats. Then, in the little English he knew, he says, “gift for your father!”

“Gift for your father.”

I received it happily and almost let the moment pass without a second thought, but the phrase remained in the back of my mind. Even as we continued conversation as normal and laughed and honestly enjoyed every moment, I still would occasionally hear it.

And after we said our goodbyes and made it back to our hostel, the phrase persisted until I finally responded, “but my father is gone.”

I’ve had my moments here and there these past few months, but the level of pain that began to enter in almost felt like a fresh wound. But I noticed a difference in these feelings from other moments of grief. There was no despair, no hopelessness, no fear or overwhelming depression. But there was sadness. A pure sadness that came simply from the thought of missing my dad. I wasn’t doubting God’s goodness. I wasn’t angry at myself or at others. I just missed my dad, and the tears began to flow freely.

Even now, a day later, I still have to stop every now and again as I write. And I wonder to myself and to God, “Is this okay? Am I okay? Am I doing anything wrong? Do I need to address something in myself?”

And He says, “You’re not doing anything wrong. I’m right here, you can cry with Me.”

And that’s why I wanted to write this blog. Emotional stewardship is a real thing. They should not control us, our thoughts, nor our actions towards others. I know all too well how easy it is to misuse them. But I believe they should not be stifled or silenced either. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to be hurting and sad. But as Hannah did when she poured out her heart to the Lord, give over your feelings and emotions to our Father in heaven.

He’s not afraid of them, and He knows what to do with them. And He can even glorify Himself through them if you let Him.