Grief and Sod: Part 2

… continued from Thursday’s post

“Don’t rush the grass,” my counselor said, as I retold to her the story. Oh how quick we are in our western culture to want the dirt gone and the grass grown as quickly as possible. And so it is with grief; we don’t want to do the hard work of entering into the grief process, of letting it be uncomfortable and messy for an unpredictable amount of time (Grief never lets you know when it will start to loosen its grip). We just want the end result, the beauty, the redemption, the truths tied up with pretty bows, “here’s what I’ve learned” and on we go. Well, at least that’s what I would like sooner rather then later. But grief isn’t like that. A week or two later, I simply drove by their gravesite again. The dirt was still fresh and so my heart was still feeling mostly like a sea of brokenness like the ground broken before me. I liked how her site matched my heart. It felt like a visible reminder of the permission God was giving me to grieve and mourn my daughters still. A few weeks later I went again and it had happened, just as I thought it might—sod had been put down (not very well I might add). I had half a mind to take that wretched piece of sod off her gravesite in protest. “Let the grass grow, as slow as it wants to. Don’t rush my grief.” But I didn’t. As I sat there and peeled back the sod, just sitting a top the dirt with no roots attaching itself to the ground, I was reminded that if I try to speed up this grief process or ignore it all together then I am just like the sod. Having the appearance of new life planted but no roots to keep me there. So many of us respond to grief that way. After one month or two months, everyone else seems to move on and so it feels as though you must too. We are a microwave culture. If its not instant or can’t be instance, we don’t know what to do with ourselves. And so I’m learning, with the help of my counselor, husband and trusted friends to not rush this journey as much as I want to. To not live in the sea of “should’s” and simply allow God to meet me where I’m at and surface the questions, the fears, the longings, the groaning that must reach the surface before true healing can begin. In this I’m holding onto the hope that “Weeping may remain for a night but rejoicing comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). But I’m not going to rush the morning. Grief is my companion now, often unwelcome but always there and someday it will be turned to joy. I guess I’ll let God choose when that someday is and let Him do the work in my life that needs to happen in the grief. To my grieving friends, will you join me and let Him choose the someday and step into what He has for you in the process?

Hi! I’m Lindsey. I live in Orlando, Florida with my stud of a husband Kevin. We have 3 incredible children, Sophie and Dasah who now live with Jesus and Jaden who came into our lives through adoption. We have a very energetic golden retriever and love living in the sunshine state. I get to spend my days loving on my son, investing my life in college students here through a non-profit organization we’re a part of and when I have time, writing on my blog about the hope that doesn’t disappoint!

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