Destined to Grieve

Everyone has that one weakness – that earthly thing they hold most dear. It is this weakness that is frequently threatened. The cosmos collaborates to give a paper-cut and then pour continuous streams of lemon juice on it.

For me, that weakness is people. Relationships are what I live for. I have family, best friends who are close, best friends who are distant, close friends, and distant friends. I have so, so many people. And I love them all dearly.

And yet, time after time, they are threatened. Some grow ill; some grow ill and die. Some merely move far, far away. Others stay geographically close, and yet grow more distant than some who have moved far, far away.

This is a common theme of my life, and from what I know of humanity and this world we live in, I would guess it may also be a theme of yours.

Upon realizing that this theme will continue indefinitely, we may either hide ourselves forever from all deep attachments with our fellow man, or we curse ourselves with inevitable grief.

I am destined to grieve.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I cannot live life with mere superficial attachments. I cannot coast from friendship to friendship without investing myself in others. I cannot withdraw my friendship at whim and place it elsewhere. So instead I must open myself up to pain. I must invest in people and put trust in them - not all of it, not too much even, just some. And then they will inevitably do what people do – what even I am so very guilty of doing. They will leave or forget or break trust or give up on me, and my heart will be in a state of shambles for the millionth time. Indeed, shambles seems to be my heart's state of residence.

But so be it. This destiny is far preferable to the self-inflicted loneliness that is the only other option.

So far, God has prevented my defense mechanisms from building up too much callousness within my heart. This means that each infliction of pain is not less intense, nor the damage less severe. The urge to run always pops up, and as soon as it is denied it is replaced by the depression that wishes never to feel anything ever again and the cynicism that is convinced the pain will never end. And there is nothing quite so lonely as the cynical depression that comes out of relationship failure.

But then, I hear the most patient of voices saying to me, “My child, if I can provide for your physical needs - if I can give you food and shelter, employment and financial stability out of thin air, can I not also provide for your emotional needs? Can I not heal wounds and close distances? Am I not the creator and inventor of all relationships? Am I not trustworthy? So why do you fret? Ask me and know I will answer you. Surrender your arrogant striving.”

And that is when I realize how foolish I have been to make these human relationships more important than my relationship with their Inventor. I have made these gifts more important than the Giver. I have made these creations more important than their Creator. How painful it must have been for Him to hear me tell Him His love was not enough! How foolish I was to cry and pine for love when it was right there with me the whole time! My emotions, my grief, my desire to be loved, are a mere shadow of the grief my Savior feels when I turn my human failure upon Him.

But then, in the throes of despair from my own sorrow and guilt from the sorrow I have caused, God does the most gracious thing a Father could do - He sends me to bed. His words, soothing every dark corner of my battered soul, whisper into the ache of my heart, "All you must do now is go to bed, wake up in the morning, and try again."

So goodnight, grief. I'll see you tomorrow.