Grace in Wilderness

They say you can’t rush grief. But lately I feel like that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do. Not on purpose, of course, but with the busyness of a summer that has been filled with countless distractions, it’s been far easier to focus on the momentary highs rather than sitting in the lows of loss.

I tend to run when things get hard, and this has been my hardest life season, by far. I truly would not wish this on my worst enemy. I have been learning, though, that sprinting toward the goal of “healing” can actually do more damage than good. Sure, I’m at a place where I can talk about losing my husband without immediately bursting into tears. That doesn’t mean the pain of what I have lost is gone.

A dull ache, like a ticking clock, follows me wherever I go. It’s as if I can hear it chiming in the background, hoping that by some miracle this is all just a bad dream. Will I ever wake up?

Then comes the sweet temporary relief of distraction. It makes me forget for a second that I am living in a constant nightmare.

The thing about distractions is they are kindling on a fire that’s already burning. They flare up beautifully at first, but when the embers fade, I am left right where I started…only more exhausted. I have been burning the candle at both ends, trying to outrun something that was never meant to be outrun.

I think I’ve been mistaking numbness for healing. If I can stay busy enough, laugh enough, or plan enough, maybe I’ll finally feel “normal” again. But healing isn’t the absence of pain. It’s learning to carry pain without letting it carry you.

The Lord has been gently showing me that grieving isn’t something to conquer. It’s something to walk through—with Him.

I wish healing was in a straight line. Instead, it feels more like a collection of scribbles. But even in the midst of the mess, God is faithful. He doesn’t ask me to sprint through this valley; He invites me to abide with Him in it.

As I learn how to abide, I’ve realized that this season isn’t really about burning brighter or moving faster. Maybe it’s about letting the flame burn steadily. Choosing rest over striving. Presence over productivity. Trust over pretending.

“Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” | Lamentations 3:22-23

I don’t know what tomorrow will look like.

But I do know what today looks like.

Every morning I wake up with breath in my lungs, there is enough of God’s strength to cover me. Not for next week. Not for the lifetime ahead of me. Just enough for today.

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