Grief.

It’s a funny thing, in the most ironic sense of the word, creeping up on you in the most unexpected and often inopportune moments. Mine today, was on my way to get breakfast from the hospital cafeteria during my 12-hour night shift, where I work as a labor and delivery nurse. Breakfast…the same meal I was about to get during my “lunch break” oh so many years ago, when I discovered our precious Molly had quietly passed away while tucked safely inside my womb at 23 weeks (May 24, 2011). Since that moment, where what had only started to begin abruptly became an end, I have lived a wonderfully blessed life. And yet I have forever been changed by once shattered dreams transforming into the soft rounded edges of sea glass.

May 2022: For the past two years, my husband and I , along with our kiddos, have traveled the U.S., embracing the “salt life” on the shores of Hawaii, Alaska, and Cape Cod. Beach walks became a favorite pastime, made grand by the smell of saltwater, squawk of seagulls, ocean spray, and the shimmer of seaside treasures. Bending down to inspect tiny flecks of blues and greens, sea glass was always a particularly delightful find. Merely shards of broken bottles, windshields, and dishware, sea glass is a perfect picture of how God can take broken things and make them beautiful.

Endlessly tossed by waves, crashed upon the shore, and scoured by sand, sea glass begins to take shape. Decades of scouring wear the sharp, jagged edges into smooth, rounded curves. The surface, once flawless, becomes etched as millions of minuscule sand fragments continually brush against it. The translucent glass, now frosted, is a reminder of the ocean’s harsh alkaline pH forever leaving its mark. Eventually washed upon the shore, once trash is now treasure; once broken is now beautiful; refined by years of trials.

Grief can leave you feeling shattered, tossed by the rise and fall of emotions. Some days are calm, a gentle lapping of memories brushing against your heart strings. Yet others leave you feeling as though you’ve been beaten and battered by a surge of unsuspecting waves, rolling you beneath the chaos as you desperately scramble for the surface, gasping, “Air”!

When we lost Molly 12 years ago, I felt broken, shattered into a million pieces, all at once, in a single moment. Not only had our unborn child died, but also the dreams of what her future would have looked like, how loved she would have been by her siblings and grandparents, and all the many “firsts” that would never come to pass. When I was discharged from the hospital, the only proof I had that she had ever existed fit snugly into a purple box tied with a satin ribbon. My pain was sharp, visceral, and gut-wrenching.

And yet…

Through God’s love and grace, I healed. Much like a piece of sea glass, my grief is no longer sharp, but smooth; a memory to be picked up and revisited from time to time. So every now and then, I’ll untie the box and allow myself to just sit. And that’s ok.

I came across a post I had made a years ago on social media and it resonated in me all over again.

He cried. He knew Lazarus was dead before he got the news. But still, he cried. He knew Lazarus would be alive again in moments. But still, he cried. He knew this world is not home. He knew death here is not forever. He knew eternity and the kingdom better than anyone else could. AND HE WEPT. Because this world is full of pain and regret and loss and depression and devastation. He wept because knowing the end of the story doesn’t mean you can’t cry at the sad parts.

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So often as Christians we think we shouldn’t be sad. We say, “We will see them again. They are in a better place.” We discard the grieving process like we should be above it, because death is just temporary as a believer. But, Jesus wept. If Jesus cried because of the sad parts, then so can we. It’s ok to grieve. It’s ok to cry at the sad parts of life. We live in an imperfect world with grief and sadness all around us. While we shouldn’t build a permanent residence in our grief, it’s ok that we walk through it and cry at the sad parts. Jesus did.”

Jesus wept.

John 11:35

“to grant to those who mourn in Zion – to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.”

Isaiah 61:3