A not so sad story

“I am so tired of writing a sad story.”

These are the words that tumbled out of my mouth while trying to explain to a new friend why I don’t write as much anymore. For nine years this blog has been an outlet—a way to give voice to the perplexing assortment of emotions swirling through my inner world since Olivia was diagnosed with Peroxisomal Biogenesis Disorder. Scrolling through the blog titles is like flipping through a rolodex of memories—many of them representing the most trying moments of my life.

There are times when I just want to run from all of the sad. 

Last Friday was one of those times, and I found myself staring down the barrel of a weekend drenched in sorrow, half-wishing I could turn and sprint full-throttle in the opposite direction. Nine days later, I am in awe of how God helped me find hope in an unexpected place. 

It began when Robert and I registered for a grief retreat. I’d heard that the organization, While We’re Waiting, offers Bible-based events free of charge for parents who have lost a child. I can’t say that I wanted to go, but I felt it was a wise choice. I also knew that there was a waiting list, and the thought that we might not make it to the top very quickly made it easier to sign up. 

To my surprise, I soon got an email saying there was a spot for us at their Hot Springs, Arkansas location in July. Arkansas. I was there when Olivia died and hadn’t been back since. July. The retreat would take place less than two months after AJ passed away. In some ways, setting aside time to process grief in a healthy way seemed like the prudent thing to do. In other ways, it felt like a deliberate choice to swim with open wounds through a sea of alcohol. 

Nevertheless, we decided to go. For me, the decision to go ahead with the trip felt robotic—the same as deciding to get out of bed, take a shower, and get dressed. Lately, these are things I do, not because I want to, but because the alternative costs more than I am willing to pay.

I didn’t quite know what to expect from the weekend, but I had read that each couple present would have 20 minutes to share their child’s story. My mind struggled to predict the consequence of stuffing that much pain into a single space and time. Still, we drove onto the property and were greeted by towering pines, rolling hills, and a tranquil pond with the cross as its focal point. After checking into a hotel-like room and being treated to dinner, we placed Olivia and AJ’s photographs next to those of the other parents’ children and settled onto a comfortable couch to meet with the group. I pulled a blanket over my knees—protective armor to keep my fragile emotions in check.

It didn’t take long to realize that this was a place where pent up tears could flow like an undammed river, one where waves of grief would be met by a tsunami of hope. Jesus was present. God’s Word was given precedence. 

In each person’s story, we found little nuggets of truth lodged in layers of hurt, like gemstones embedded in the rock strata. Years ahead of us on the grief journey, the retreat leaders modeled a process of mining for hope, even in the hardest of situations. 

I was reminded that when you intentionally search for hope, you find it. When you search for God with all of your heart, you find Him. And when I look back through my rolodex of blog posts, I recognize a story where sadness never gets to have the final word, because God writes redemption into every story that is open to His grace.

The last nine years have taught me to hold on to Jesus and let go of fear. That real freedom can only be found in a place of surrender. There are valuable lessons to be learned when life takes you the long way around. God’s love is unfathomable and multidimensional. He gives us grace to endure, puts His redemptive power on display, and offers an eternal perspective that transcends the suffering we face on earth. He’s a Good Shepherd. His strength is made perfect in weakness, and He always leaves a trail of breadcrumbs for those looking for joy. God’s goodness is as certain as the rising and setting of the sun, and He never wastes pain that is entrusted to Him.

In the last nine days, I’ve learned to actively look for hope and that it is OK to write the sad things, because God is faithful to bring His goodness to the surface as we trust Him with our stories. My favorite “gemstone” from the weekend was a quote from The Lord of the Rings, where Sam Gamgee asks Gandalf, “Is everything sad going to come untrue?” The answer is yes. In eternity with Jesus, the sad things will come untrue. I see God’s redemptive hand at work, even now.

“And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.”–Jeremiah 29:13 (NKJV)