Angry Grief

Happy September everyone! Summer is in its final throes and fighting back hard against autumn. It's a valiant effort, but I think we're all done with 90+ weather in September. In my heart, I am pulling on my cozy socks, sliding my cocooned feet into my boots, wrapping myself in scarves, and twirling in the blowing leaves with a hot apply cider drink in my hand. Alas, today will be in the 90s again so I will put my sandals and tank top on with bitterness. Hot, sweaty bitterness.

But anyway. I have settled into a happy place. After rereading some of my posts from earlier this year, I can tell how far I've come. The beginning of this year was chaotic and sad. I've since eased into a nice season of calm and boring. I can take a deep breath without the tightness that accompanies the anxiety of too many commitments and worry over whether or not we're already behind with our school work. 

Unfortunately, some of my people have stepped into a more difficult season of life that includes a good bit of loss. Some people are dealing with death and disease. Some are dealing with the death of their vision for the future. Some are dealing with the realization that all coins have two sides, and one of those sides tends to be a little dirtier than we'd like. In one way or another, all of these things boil down to loss. 

I find that when I'm feeling hurt and grief, I want to wrap myself in a blanket of anger. Anger is so much more fun. It feels good in the worst way. Sadness and grief are full of vulnerability, but anger. Oh, anger makes me feel strong. Part of me loves to revel in the anger. LOVE. IT. I can tap into a verbal part of myself that can eloquently rip someone to shreds before they know what hit them. It's terrible. And it completely fills me so that I don't have the space or energy left to feel the pain, grief, and sadness that are the actual root of my suffering.

Ultimately, yeah. We know we can't live in the anger, and I wish I could be one of those people that immediately deals with their feelings in a healthy manner. I have yet to find a way to skip over the chocolate, pizza, and anger stage of grief. I'll bet Jesus could skip it. Or maybe not. Maybe that's why we have Ecclesiastes. Or Psalms. Imprecatory Psalms are a real thing and somehow mesh with Jesus' command to love our enemies. I do not understand it. It's a mystery. Even so...

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven;

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted;

a time to kill, and time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

a time to tear, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate;

a time for war, and a time for peace."

When I'm layering up on my anger, it tends to be directed towards my husband whether he deserves it or not. Sometimes he does. I mean, he just does. Sorry, babe, but truth is truth. Sometimes I deserve it from him. I get it. I am not always a ray of sunshine. Why do I do this? While I'm not a professional, I'd wager it's because he's the person that is the closest to seeing the pain that I want to hide. I have to be ready to deal with the grief, and I need to be able to trust him with that vulnerable side of myself that I'd very much prefer to keep locked up and protected. Until then, I'm extra prickly.

So friends of people in pain, let's give them some slack. Bring them their favorite food. Be there for them or give them space if they need a minute to process. Friends dealing with loss right now, I'm really sorry. I will bring you food if I can, and I will sit and listen all day. I promise I will never utter the words "What you should do is..." Also, I'll probably fall back onto humor at some point because that's how I diffuse tense situations. Basically, I'll listen, throw chocolate or pizza at you, and say something sarcastic. I will not give you platitudes like the following: "This is for the best" (it won't feel like it for a long time if ever), "It will all be okay" (It might not be okay. Some things are simply not okay). "God is in control." (Yeah, I know that, but that doesn't necessarily help me when something awful has happened. I might still be working to get to the stage where this truth is helpful to my heart.)

And with that, I'll stop my preaching. Oh wait. I'm a woman so I'm not supposed to preach. That whole XX chromosome thing really gets in the way of preaching. Let's call it self-help motivational speaking. Now it's totes allowed. (There's that prickly side that I warned you about)