Many months ago, I received a phone call. It was just after school drop off, and I had gratefully relocated my now-cold coffee cup moments before. “We’re putting together a book proposal. It will have stories of all the seasons of faith, like a tree: being rooted, having a strong core, and living a life reaching out as branches, blossoming and bearing fruit. We’re praying it will bless many: would you consider writing something for it?”
Friends, that seed of an idea took root, grew, and today the fruit of all our labors burst forth into the world with the launch of Everbloom, a collection of stories and poems from the women of the Redbud Writers’ Guild. It is simply BEAUTIFUL, and I am both proud and humbled today to have had a small part in such a gorgeous work.
Here’s what Shauna Niequist says about it:
“Stories that help us feel seen, known, and understood. Honestly and beautifully told.”
And poet Luci Shaw:
“Gritty, funny, painful, affirming. Once I began reading these stories I couldn’t stop.”
Everbloom is available wherever books are sold (on sale this week from the publishers and on Amazon!), and I have a copy to give away to a reader! Enter below and I’ll contact the winner on Friday 4/28. But don’t just take my word for it that it’s lovely: here’s an excerpt from Whitney Simpson. Her chapter is entitled “Grief. Sit with it.”
Grief. Sit With It.
They say loss is common in a first pregnancy. The details escape me—specific words said, who knew about the loss, or how many meals were delivered. Yet the gift of the pillow and mug remain clear in my mind over a decade later. As I was cleaning out a closet recently, my gaze fell upon this gift, and I fondly remembered that dark season of hushed loss. I remembered with compassion the “wounded” me who received this perfect gift and the invitation for growth it offered.
The gift invited me to embrace rest after my first pregnancy—a pregnancy that introduced me not to motherhood, but to loss. It was a meaningful gift from a mom who had also experienced a hushed loss and understood this gray season and my feelings of quiet sadness.
While this form of loss is a common occurrence, I had never lost like this; this was different. But it was early in my pregnancy, and somehow the briefness of gestation seemed to discount my grief in the view of others.
The gift of the pillow and mug reminded me that there were people who cared for me and wanted to draw near to me after our loss—even if I did not allow it in my dark time of quiet sadness. I seemed fine on the outside, and few were allowed near enough to know the emptiness I felt within. The gift reminded me that God is near, yet I did not choose to rest or sit with God in my brokenness. While life continued on script, I busied myself and pushed through in fast-forward.
In a few short months—and still giving little time to sitting with the grief—I turned from quiet to angry. It was at my husband’s brave urging that I met with someone, months after my miscarriage.
I will never forget the day we sat together on our couch as anger spewed from my lips at him. I do not remember what my anger was connected to that day, but I do know it was unwarranted.
For you see, I could not identify how grief was binding to me and blinding me. Soon, my counselor, and later a spiritual director, helped me process those feelings and not silence or discount them. I discovered God in them, identified new skills, and began embracing the grieving cycle. It was a season of patience that allowed me to process the grief, and, ever so slowly, the anger began to fade.
This processing of the trauma was necessary before I could fill that mug with tea and receive support from that pillow, or from anyone for that matter. I began to sit with God in my grief and discovered I was not alone.
Color soon filled my gray days with the delight and joys of family, life, and ministry. Yet seasons changed as they do, and grief returned with the loss of first a job and later a parent. These losses opened unexpected spaces for anger to return. I stumbled a bit in the darkness, each experience another opportunity and invitation for sitting with God. I was no longer a stranger to the sneaky ways grief masks itself in my heart or in the hearts of others. I was invited to sit in the changing seasons.
Befriending grief has opened me to growth. It walks with me on a journey of spiritual transformation. It teaches me to value others in their times of loss. It helps me to value my feelings and thoughts. It reminds me that God can handle my anger. It invites me to trust those who love me most, even when it hurts. Grief asks that I slow down and sit awhile.
Years later, the little gold pillow and coffee mug invite me to sit with each loss . . . sit with the sadness . . . sit with the longings of my heart . . . sit. Novelist George Eliot reminds me of how vitally important it is to embrace the grief: “She was no longer wrestling with the grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.”
Are you living in fast-forward after loss (even months or years later)? Have you considered the invitation to slow down and sit with your grief for a season? Allow your whispers to be spoken to and heard by the God who weeps with you as you discover grief as teacher, companion, and friend. May you sit with your grief and be comforted by your God there.