A while back, I read a book by Elizabeth Berg, The Year Of Pleasures. The reviews on Amazon were indifferent; she is accused of lacking cohesion and indulging in flights of fancy. I dug in anyway. The protagonist is a freshly-widowed 55-year-old woman, grieving her husband while simultaneously trying to make a new life for herself, per his instructions before he died of cancer.
Somehow, I could relate.
I still - thank God! - have my Farmer by my side, to love me, and provide a buffer from many of life's bumps. And I am still far (it seems to me) from 55 years of age.
But lately I am grieving - the passage of time, the dreams I haven't yet realized that I thought I would have by this ripe old age of 39, the immaturity still resident in my personality and habits. Maudlin, I know. But what I loved about the book was that the widow's grieving gave her new eyes, to see beauty both in remembrance and in hope.
Her husband left her slips of paper, just a word or phrase on each, to remind her (or sometimes, befuddle her) with memories of things she'd let slip through her fingers, in essence to tell her over and over - say yes! It's like the one thousand gifts in reverse - the gifts unseen, refused - enumerated not to incite guilt, but to spur the widow on to an acceptance of beauty, of abundant life.
This summer some girlfriends and I were browsing a vintage shop in town. Upstairs, one of them called my name: "You have to look at this set of plates - they are you!!" I looked, and they were. The price was fair, too, but I reasoned the dinnerware away - I have a perfectly serviceable set of dishes [that I heartily dislike] and ... pretty things are not for me.
I'm not sure where that belief came from, but when it showed itself that day, I realized I had believed it many times, for many things. I'm glad to say that I was able to see truth, that day, and bury the lie: my household budget allowed easily for the purchase, and the beauty of the plates would cheer us daily for years. In the end, I bought them, and every time I set them out, they whisper "pretty things are for you...."
A couple of years ago, a group of wives gathered in a different friend's house to talk about how to be good wives, good mothers. A question was raised about the Bible's call to self-denial versus the world's call to self-care. We puzzled over it, some in favor of one, some in favor of the other, no one quite sure if the two could be reconciled.
But then I found a paragraph from Lisa Bevere's book Out of Control & Loving It that caught my eye. She contended that self-neglect is different from self-denial. I had never before seen that I was confusing the two, that I could deny selfish desires while still caring for basic needs.
Much in The Year of Pleasures is unrealistic, yes. But like a list of gifts yet undiscovered, it calls to me, like the ocean, like a Japanese maple aflame with autumnal glory, like the opening strains of the Moonlight Sonata - "there is hope .... life can be abundant .... accept the beauty offered."
I will be keeping my eyes open.
I turn 40 in a few days. This decade will be a new hill to climb, and beauty, and gifts, will be my fuel.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
10 ways to help (a borrowed post)
I'd like to introduce you to Elizabeth Ibrahim-Campbell, an accidental blogger from whom I have learned a lot. Let's just say that God can use even our deepest griefs for his glory and our holiness. Thank you, Elizabeth, for sharing your heart with us over the past year, and thank you for sharing this post with me here.
1) Be there. Seriously, just be present. Go and sit with the family at their home or at the viewing. It does not matter if you are best friends or not, you can still be there.
2.) Don’t be afraid to cry bawl your eyes out. I was in complete shock after Jason died. It did not feel real, and so it was hard to cry. Seeing others weep helped it to sink in for me and even provided relief for me. I believe it is why Jesus tells us to weep with those who weep. It is a real and tangible comfort.
3.) Send a card. I kept every single one of mine, and when I am grieving again I still go back through and read them. I loved that I received cards from my best friends who were with me 24/7 at first, and from complete strangers all over the world.
4.) Send food in disposable containers. And try not to send very highly perishable items like salads or breads that need to be eaten immediately. I had a wall of bread as high as my refrigerator that took up all my counter space. Literally.
4 ½.) Don’t force-feed your grieving friend— especially foods that they never liked in the first place. (Well, okay, unless that person is a young mom nursing a newborn baby. Maybe it was a good thing after all. But boy do I ever HATE yellow mustard now or what!!!)
5.) Call a contact person regarding meals, etc. Try not to call the family directly about trivial matters, find someone else who can answer your questions. Offer to be that contact person if they need one.
6.) Shovel snow, rake leaves, or mow the grass. Just show up and quietly do what needs to be done.
7.) Offer to help with practical details before the days of the viewing/funeral. Does the family’s car need to be washed for the processional? Do their children own appropriate clothing for a funeral? Could you go shopping for them? Could you offer out-of-town guests a restful place to stay?
8.) Send flowers unexpectedly in the months to come. Let the family know you haven’t forgotten.
9.) Offer to watch children so a grieving parent can slip away for some time alone.
10.) Pray consistently for God’s outpouring of peace and grace over the whole family.
10 1/2.) Don’t hold me responsible for these ideas. Maybe other people are comforted by a Great Wall of Bread when they are mourning. I couldn’t say…
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