Defining Grief - Jason Schrock

Good morning to teach one. This morning we often greet

each other in the name of Jesus. This morning, I

would like to greet you in the name of the

one that the apostle Paul mentioned in Second Corinthians. Appreciate

what Joel shared there as far as the light affliction

this one. But Paul begins the second Second Corinthian's letter,

he says, blessed be God, even the father of our lord,

Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of

all comfort. And so this morning we are together to

worship the God of all comfort. And why does God

comfort us, who comfort us us in all our tribulation,

that we may be able to comfort them which are

in any trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are

comforted of God. And so, as has been mentioned here,

we're beginning a series of four messages. And maybe maybe

I was taking just a little too much for granted

to take this much time. I think we've mentioned that

brother Steve their Palisades had asked here year or so

ago for for some messages on what I have learned

through grief, and so i'd given this at Palisades. I

think it was in March of last year, and so

the four subjects that we'd like to look at this

morning on defining grief and then it goes into the

matter of prayer, into the matter of sovereignty of God,

and finishing up with the need of brotherhood in in

all of this. And so we'd just like to do that.

And So, if I had understood the assignment, and I

think I did, that I was to share what I

have learned through grief. So if that's the case, then

I find to really share what I have learned, it's

going to be sharing personal experiences. And you know, there's

many books have been written on grief, and I was

even browsing through a couple of them this morning again,

and there's many truths in those books that really resonate

with me. And yet I find that a lot of

those can just be pretty sterile their theory, their fact

and maybe not maybe not as much feeling as what

you might as what you find personally. And so I

hope that you can bear with me this and in

the days ahead that even though I do plan to

use some of these slack facts and theories, even though

I do plan to quote some of these, yet I

also want to give how grief has impacted my life

and the understandings that I've come to through experience. And

I will say this, and I guess I particularly have

felt that the last couple of months. Most of you

are aware that there's a book that has come out

now that I had written in relation to my memories

of things that have taken place in my life. A

person feels somewhat vulnerable to just open up and say, Okay, here,

here it is, folks, this is what you got to

look at. And so I felt that way with the book.

I feel that way this morning. But here we go.

I'd like to read just I was looking at this

this morning and it impressed me. From Psalm thirty one,

a couple verses were actually the word grief is used

Psalm thirty one. Well, in verse seven it says I

would be glad and rejoice in thy mercy, for thou

hast considered my trouble, thou hast known my soul in adversities,

and then going on to verse nine, have mercy upon me,

o Lord, for I am in trouble. Mine eye is

consumed with grief. YEA my soul in my belly, for

my life is spent with grief, and my years with sighing.

My strength faileth because of my iniquity, and my bones

are consumed. And so as I prepared to share on

these subjects, I had to wonder, you know, do people

want to hear the raw facts or you want to

sanitize just a little bit. Well you're probably going to

get some of both. So I hope that's all right.

And so I think most of you are aware that

as far as my grief has to do with the

loss of loved ones in death, and I'm not saying

that's the only grief, certainly is not the only grief

that I've faced in my life, but as probably most

of you know, I've experienced a death of two wives,

a daughter, five grandchildren, as well as my parents and

three siblings, And so my talks are going to come

more from this angle. Although I want to recognize that

there are some aspects of grief, a lot of aspects

of grief that are faced in other losses that people

have somewhat of a definition, And my title this morning

is defining grief. Grief is an intense emotional suffering caused

by loss. We often think of grief as relating to

the death of a loved one, but can be caused

by terminal illness, financial loss, the breaking of a deep

love relationship, a rebellious son or daughter, or anything that

once was but we now have lost that. And so

when someone has a loss in their life, whether it's

a breaking up of a love life, a child that's

going astray, or any number of experiences. As I have

observed people in life, I say, you know that person's

going through grief. You can see those patterns and some

of the stages which I'm going to get to here

just in a few minutes. And so grief is a

form of love. It's a desire, it's a longing for

a relationship that once was but is no more. And

I'd like to say, I don't know if I can

emphasize this enough, that grief is not a state. It's

a journey. And Joel mentioned that here this morning. It's

not a place where we live indefinitely. It's a road.

It's a process. And we walked through the shadows of

uncertainty and maybe even through the depths of despair. Yay,

this psalmist said, ya though I walk through. He didn't

say ya though I come to live in the shadow

of death, but I walk through. But you know, once

one has walked work through grief, there is an emptiness

and a loss that gives way to a new world

without that person or that situation. It's a world that

does not contain the form of that beloved one. And

one does eventually find out that life does go on

and life does have meaning, and the road of grief

needs to lead there. So what takes place in a

person's heart and life when faced with law, with loss?

Life is disrupted. Everything that wants have been natural and

commonplace and usual has been changed. Suddenly there's been a

great change. One is in a state of unbelief, of numbness,

of incomprehension of all that has taken place. I never

thought that this would come to me, But here we are,

And how am I supposed to face this? What are

these changes going to do to me, to my life,

to my future and the life of others. I'm going

to go here. Probably if you've ever read any books

on grief and so on, there's usually there's five stages

of grief. There are lessened I'm going to just go

over those briefly. I think it helps us defining grief.

The first is denial, and so especially if we hear

of an event that's sudden, maybe a sudden death or

whatever might be, we say, oh, no, what's that. It's denial.

It's that first response. I remember when my nephew, Edmund

Mast was killed in Guatemala, so you would maybe remember

that's been a number of years now, and I had

another nephew, well, his parents and my sister and brother

in law and family were living in Mexico, and the

communication was not that that good, but somebody sent word

to them that your son has been killed in an

accident in Guatemala. The next nephew, just next to him

in age, told me he said, you know what he said?

I thought, well, maybe they said he was almost killed. No,

that's not what was said. But that was denial, and

probably why a lot of you would remember when the

five grandchildren of Jeff or Jeff's children were killed, and

we got the news again and again and again. People said,

all of them hanging on to maybe a little bit

of a grass. Maybe there might be one or two

that survived all of them. So that that is denial.

We can't believe it. We don't want to believe it.

This can't be happening. There must be some mistake. There

must be a way to fix things. We can't go

on like this. And so actually what it is is shock.

And you know, as I've thought about this and meditated

on grief, it's one shock is actually a blessing. You know.

There's some times we go to a funeral and the

person that might be the closest related, maybe the the parents,

the spouse, the children, whatever, seem composed. And it is

probably shock that is serving as an emotional anesthetic during

a time of extreme pain. The second stage is that

of anger. And I don't know exactly how to relate

to this or how to describe it. Do we as

Christians respond in anger? And just about any book that

you read on grief says it's all right to be

angry with God, and maybe it is. I remember after

my first wife passed away, I was talking to a

family member and she told me, she says, I am

so angry at God. What are you supposed to say?

I guess I felt more bewildered than angry. One thing

I did find interesting during that time or before. Yeah,

at that time when Marylynd, my first wife passed away.

We used the Yo's Funeral Home at Lebanon for the

to take care of the funeral arrangements. Bob Wolfers some

of you would remember him. He was about a nightmare

that was the undertaker there and he told me, he said,

you know, it's really you can tell such a difference

between Christian families and non Christian families at a time

of death. He said, these non Christian families will come

in here and they are so angry, and they are

anger at each other and have a lot of bad

things to say. But he said, Christians will come and

they are more accepting of what has taken place, and

so anger is an emotion that can show up. I guess,

like I said, I think to me I was maybe

more bewildered. All right. The third the third stage is

that of bargaining one's life has been disrupted somehow. God,

can't you fix this? There's got to be a way

God to fix this. And I think this is particularly

true in terminal illness. And if I have time, I'd

like to go into the grief that a terminal ill

patient finds. But you know, God, can't you fix this problem?

If you will, I will will, and you fill in

the blanks. What will you do if God does this?

What you wouldn't do to give have your loved one back.

I'd be willing to work any deal with God if

I could just have my loved one back. But that's

not that's not the case. Then there's a matter of guilt.

And this is this is real, the matter of guilt.

I see that again. I have felt it many times

that you know, you go over and over the things

that have taken place, and could have I done things

a little bit different? Should have I? I I remember

in my own experience. My first wife was because she

had a very aggressive form of terminal cancer, took her

down in just fourteen months that we knew it. And

one time she was sitting there reading a paper that

we had, and she said, you know, here it talks

about this particular treatment that maybe maybe we could look

into that. Well. I wasn't too interested in just chasing

any thing that come along, and she wasn't either, necessarily,

but so we let that go. And you know, afterward,

I thought I kind of had some guilt there that

I did not at least try to check into that

and see, well, that made a big difference. When my

second wife had cancer, I did not want to go

through that again. We tried everything, not everything that came

our way, but whatever we could. It seemed appropriate to

try to fight that disease. I'm going to share just

a little bit what my niece said when her father

passed away, which would be my oldest brother, My oldest brother, Paul.

He was serving at Eastern Midnight University, and he was

He was upstairs and had come downstairs to go home

that day, and somehow or another, nobody knows, did he trip.

Did he did? He pass out a little bit, but

he stumbled and fell down, hit his head. His skull

was cracked, and there was nothing that anybody could do.

He was He was alert for a little while, but

didn't last long, and he lingered in the hospital for

several days while the family knew he would never recover.

And so this is my niece's description of what took place.

She said, we talked over and over endlessly about what

had happened. I realized now what a significant part of

grief work that is. Perhaps in a sudden death, this

is even more needed. Mom went over and over when

he had left the house, what they had said what

had transpired in the fall, why he didn't take the

elevator instead of the steps, why she didn't realize how

serious it was in the first call, why it took

the ambulance so long to get there and get him

to the hospital. She was especially bothered by the way

things went in the er, wishing she had some things

more or differently, that she had said some things more

or differently when he still could hear. I had a

very hard time getting over the fact that I didn't

stop to see him that afternoon, as was my usual habit,

that I could have should have been at my office

at five pm on Friday afternoon, so you could see

the guilt that was going through the wife and the

daughter of my brother. There another level of guilt, and

I think we just need to keep this in mind

in all of my But someone passes on and I

just wish I hadn't said those words to them, those

unkind words to them last week. That can be a

matter of guilt. Then the fifth stage of grief is accepted,

and I'll say a little bit more on that later.

I've been reading through the Old Testament and have enjoyed

again Jeremiah and we think of the what all he

went through, and you know, as Jeremiah, we think of

him as a weeping prophet. And as he faced the

destruction of the city that he loved, the city of Jerusalem,

he saw all the devastation about him and people that

were taken captive. Here's one thing that he said in

Lamentations three, verses thirty one to thirty three. For the

Lord will not cast off forever. But though he caused grief,

yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of mercies.

For he does not afflict willingly, nor grieve, nor grieve

the children of man. And so in all of his grief,

Jeremiah said, you know, even though the Lord does cause grief,

yet he has compassion. Yet he has mercy. He does

not willingly afflect man. But this was the result of

their sin. Now, maybe just a little description of how

things go when there is a a death. I'm going

to say, there's a void in one's heart and life

that seems to be unfillable. I don't know if any

of you have ever read the book that C. S.

Lewis wrote after his wife died. It's called A Grief Observed.

He had been a bachelor for many years. I'm not

sure how old he was. But then he married a

woman and they were married for four years, and if

you read that book, it seemed that they had a

wonderful marriage. And then she died of cancer. And as

you read that book, he almost lost his faith in God,

and then he eventually regained it a grief observed. And

here's the way he begins his book. No one ever

told me that grief felt so like fear. I'm not afraid,

but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering

in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning I keep swallowing.

And I will say it does affect one physically. I

remember how I felt like I had almost a perpetual

stomach ache. And then there is no no motivation and

the devotion of the flour we've talked about. You know

how much motivation and drive there is here in America.

But when when one some in one is grieving, uh,

there's there's no motivation. Okay. So C. S. Lewis also

said this, No one ever told me that grief felt

so like fear. I'm not afraid, but the sensation is

like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the

same releastissis a yawning. I keep swallowing, and so like

I said, there's there's no enthusiasm for life. Life does

not seem worth living. There's there's no purpose. I had

a desire to die. I could care less whether bananas

were cheaper it Safeway or frid Meyer. It didn't make

a bit of difference to me. In fact, I hardly

had any interest in any of the national news anymore,

which I would have kept up with very much. I'd

like to read from another author if I can find

it here, and this author is Jeanette Klopfenstein in her

book My Walk Through Grief, and her husband was diagnosed

with a rare form of muscular dystrophy, and four years

later he died suddenly at the age of twenty nine.

And here's a few things that she had to say

in relation to that. Some days, in agonizing emptiness gnawed

within me. I didn't know how to handle the to

the totally foreign emotion of wanting to give up and die.

At other times I faced deep depression and no feeling

at all. Sometimes I'd experience a negative bitterness as suffocated

my spirit then, surprisingly, intermingled between these bad days would

come peaceful interludes when I felt that I would be

able to handle Roger's death After all. These reactions didn't

come in any observable pattern, but were silical and jumbled.

I thought coping with death would be like climbing a mountain.

Once I'd gone through the progressive stages, I would come

out on top with a victory flag of acceptance in

my hand. I wasn't prepared for grief's slow walk over

a dusty road, where each bend seemed to bring again

a path that I thought I'd already traveled. What does

a person do when emotions are so clouded that life

loses its attraction and purpose? At times, I felt that

my whole reason for living had been swallowed up by

Roger's death. And there's a lot more than she had

to say, but I thought that fits in with what

I wanted to say here. Also, I was looking this

morning in the in a book, I thought this would

would fit in here. This author tells about a hospice

worker who makes more than a thousand follow up calls

to grieving people every year to check in with them

and see how they're doing. And she calls first of all,

a month after the loved one has died. In these

initial calls, many people tell her that they can't concentrate

on anything other than the loss. They have mood changes

at the drop of a hat, their life seems incredibly empty.

Some say they are overwhelmed by feelings of anger, guilt, sadness,

or loneliness, while others tell her that they are numb

and don't really feel anything at all. Some say they

feel like sleeping all the time, while others have difficulties sleeping.

Some tell her that they cry constantly, while others say

they've been unable to shed a single tear. Many describe

how they have recurrent dreams about their loved one, and

many say that there are even times when they think

they hear the loved one's voice. A lot of those

things resonate with some of the things that I would

have experience. I'm going to go down a little different

path here for a couple of minutes, getting away from

the death of someone to another type of grief. And

this really I guess when I was first looking at

this subject here a little over or about a year ago,

there was a newsletter that came from the hershes in Kraine,

Jean's brother and family. Anya there has done a good

job of expressing things, and I was impressed at how

that war in Ukraine has been a grief and some

of the things she said just right down the line

of how grief is for a person that's lost someone

in death. I'm going to read just a little bit here. Yes,

three years ago have gone since those first days of war,

but the memories are still fresh. It seems best to

keep those feelings buried deep and to hide them in

the busyness of serving, of reaching out, of counting our

blessings and rejoicing and all the good God is doing.

But occasionally, and at unexpected times, those memories and feelings

that have been locked away reservice and we are left

with emotions that are challenging to deal with. It is

true that God is good, that he is faithful, and

that he is bringing beauty from ashes. We have seen

his Marie backless hand time and time again. He has

answered prayers and shown undeserving mercies. But that does not

erase the pain. It does not make loss any It

does not make loss easy or grief light. It does

not mean that hurt disappointment, anger, and resentment are washed

away by the wonders of what God is doing. We

don't always make room for those feelings. We attempt to

keep them covered. Somehow, we feel obligated to defend God's reputation.

We have to proclaim his promises that everything works together

for good. We don't give ourselves or others the room

to grieve, to grope, and to grapple. But God, in

his grace does. He allows us to lament, to pour

out our feelings, our sorrows, and our disappointments to him

in prayer. He tenderly catches our tears, and he reminds

us that He created us in such a beautiful way

that we can experience both deep joy and deep grief

at the same time. The grief does not negate our joy. Instead,

the joy is richer and sweeter because of the grief.

Three years have passed since the war ended normal life

as we knew it. Even if the war were to

stop tomorrow, life would never return to what it used

to be. We will never be the same. Some wounds

will heal, but the scars will remain. There are people

who will never return home again, and the ones who

do return are not the same as when they left.

The war has changed us all. Not all the changes

are good, not all the changes are bad. We've growned

and we've grown. We've grieved and we received, We've given

up much and been given even more. And then she

goes on a little further and says, all the miracles

we've seen and the prayers have been answered, don't erase

the memories of prayers that seemed unanswered, of results we

never wish for, or of miracles that didn't happen. In

acknowledging the grief and disappointments, the loss and the longings,

doesn't make God less good. It doesn't make his promises

less powerful, his love less meaningful, or his peace less perfect.

Through it all, God is still God and he is

still good. There's more there, but I don't think I'll

take the time. But but that just that resonated with me.

She said, you know, even if that war stops tomorrow,

there's losses that will never It'll never change the way

we are. Life will never return to what it used

to be, will never be the same. Wounds may heal,

but the scars will still be there. And that that

is so true in grief in any type of grief

that we have. Now I'm going to share probably quite

a bit here and the rest of the morning in

relation to some of the things that took place in

the after the death of my first wife. And that

is not one reason I did that is because that

is what I really chronicled wrote. I wrote a journal

following her death for probably a little over a year,

and in preparation for this, I had gone through most

of that writing again and picked out some things that

I thought might be of help and a subject like this.

But that does not mean that her death was necessarily

any more important or any more difficult than subsequent deaths.

So after her death, there was a phrase in Jeremiah

that I found and held on to, even though it's

probably out of context. It says, she hath given up

the ghost her son has gone down while it was

yet day. And so, like I said, with this assignment,

I went back and reviewed some of my entries and

I'm going to share some of the things that I

was thinking that time. And here is one thing that

I had written. Somehow it seems I've been left as

a caretaker of the dreams and responsibilities. We shared it

seems life has ceased to exist. Why are decisions and

grief so closely connected? Why does decisions press upon me

from every side. I'm not allowed the luxury of being

so absorbed in sorrow that I'm oblivious to demanding needs

about me. Sometimes I wish I could let the world

go by and just sit and think of what life

used to be. But no duty demands an answer. I

suppose anytime anybody faces difficulty in life, whether it's grief,

whether it's some other area, we have the the possibility

of saying that nobody really has anything to face like

I have. Is there any sorrow like my sorrow? In

lamentations again, Jeremiah said, is it nothing to you all

ye that passed by? Behold and see if there be

any sorrow like in the mount of sorrow, which is

done unto me, wherewith the Lord has afflicted me in

the day of his fierce anger. And then we have

to deal with a matter of bitterness, of feeling that

you know I've been given well, things have been taken

away that I had hoped for. Let me just illustrate

it this way. I remember, shortly after Maryland passed away.

I don't know what I was doing in Crevalis, but

I was walking down the street and I went by

a storefront and in that storefront was a beautiful display

of twenty fifth anniversary things plates, you know, with decorations

and so on. And it just stabbed me. You know what,

we will never have the privilege of celebrating that twenty

fifth anniversary. That was a loss. And as so, those

are things to face after a death several of our family.

And I'm going to bring this a lot closer of

time wise here to the time of the death of

Ruth and my daughter Esther and so on. Different was

that the family mentioned how their brain was so foggy

it just wasn't clear in effects our ability to think.

I read of a man that went to the store

and bought groceries and took his card out to his car,

got in his car and drove off and left his

grocery sitting there. Now I can relate to that, the

brain is so foggy, you've got other things on your mind.

I guess maybe i'll I don't know if I should

or not take the time to read this. This was

about a month and a half after Maryland's passing, and

this is something I wrote in my journal. Her absence

is everywhere present, how thoughts of her absence come pouring in.

There's a void, a vacuum being filled with these thoughts.

I cannot shake it try as I would. It is

with me as soon as I wake up, and goes

with me throughout the day into the night. Somehow, on

every thought, every discussion, every act, it seems this empty

feeling cascades upon my consciousness. I have a void in

the pit of my stomach, almost like a perpetual mild stummach.

I have no one that I feel comfortable to express

my inner feelings. I must pour them out to the Lord.

I miss her counsel, listing, ear, understanding, heart concerns, advice,

her sweet present. Tears spring on me unbidden, as the

lion springs upon its prey at an unsuspecting moment. Memories, memories, memories,

how sweet yet bittersweet. All I have are memories. Yes,

they comfort, but they also haunt what might have been.

How could there be such loneliness in the midst of

so many people. Everyone is so kind and thoughtful, Our

material needs are well supplied, that children are joy and comfort.

Yet there are emotions and trauma that I must tread

alone with my God. Seemingly so few really understand. How

can they id end either? Until experience taught me the

bitter lesson owe for someone to really share and confide with.

There is such a hurt in my heart. I've been

torn apart. Two were made one. Now death has made

one into two again. And there's a little bit more there.

That's a little raw for you, but that's that's what

it was. And so you see, I wish that there

would have been someone that would have understood, someone I

could talk to, someone that I could really confide in.

But you know, as I thought about it, I couldn't

think of anyone in the Tangent church that had lost

a wife. How about Hairsburg, No, no way there? Well

then maybe Porter No? Well why was I picked out

to be the one to lose my wife out of

all these three churches that we that we fellowship with.

And so I realized, now I wasn't very open with

my family with my church brethren, and I wondered why

my emotional needs were not met. And maybe this kind

of comes to the last subject of brotherhood. But I

had a self imposed shield of protection around my feelings.

There was a little poem that I carried in my

Bible for decades. I'm not quite sure what happened to

it now, but I had it not too long ago.

And here's what I said. I guess I would have

almost said that this was my battle hymn of the grieving.

Though I'm beaten, nobody shall know. I'll wear defeat proudly.

I shall go about my business as I did before.

Only when I've safely closed the door. Shall friends and

the rest? Shall I be free? Against friends and the rest?

Shall I be free to bow my head where there

is none to see? Tonight? I will shed my tears

Tomorrow when I talk with you, I will be gay again.

Though I am beaten, nobody shall guess, for I will

walk as though I knew success. Sometimes I cry out

with this almist, How long, oh Lord, rebuke me, not

in nine anger, neither chasing me in the hot displeasure.

Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I'm weak. Lord

healed me, for my bones are vexed. My soul is

also sore vexed. But thou, oh Lord, how long? Well,

let's see. I think I need to move on here.

There's more that I could say, but one thing that

I found that there were others who almost felt guilty.

I would have some brethren conan me, almost apologetically and say,

you know, it just doesn't seem right. I can go

home to my wife and you don't have one. I

didn't like that. I know God has not called you

to bear that burden that was, and God doesn't give

strength for something that you don't need to bear. Enjoy

life the blessings God has given you, and don't be

uh feel guilty. About four and a half months after

Marilyn passed away, I wrote in my journal something to

this effect. Sometimes I have a fear that time will

heal some of the wounds. I hardly want to give

it up. Yes, life has taken on new and different routines,

and we come adjusted to it. And even though there's

deep longings and many memories and grief, yet there's times

where I fear lest it's not as keen as it

was before. And so those are some of the things

that I had to deal with. Then on Mother's Day,

I wrote quite a bit. Maybe I'll just take time

to read that because this had to do with mother's

my first wife, second wife, my daughter, and I write

about Mother's Day. Yes, she was a wonderful mother. How

I wish her children could have learned to relate to

her on adult level. At first, after her death, I

thought my loss was the greatest. I knew that children

had sustained a great loss. But they are young. They

can form lasting friendships, perhaps become married, and have the

joy of life before them. But this past week, as

I thought upon their loss, I was touched by the

fact that they will miss an important part of life

by not having a mother to relate to throughout life.

How about the problems of running a household, of learning

the knack of caring for a newborn baby, things that

Maryland depended so much upon her mother. Our girls will

never have the privilege to learn from their own mother.

In this way, neither of the boys have their mother

to use as an ideal or comparison in choosing a

worthy mate for life. They will not have Grandma to

fuss and croon over a new baby. Yes, the children

have lost much, much more than I can ever replace.

But God can feel that though that void, that need.

How I do not know. I can't understand Mother's Day

has passed. Yes, in a real sense for five motherless

children and a heartbroken father, never again a real mother's

day in this life. So now I want to come

to the last point of the stages of grief with

that of acceptance. And this comes slowly, and one finally

does come to a place of rest and realizes that

God is fulfilling his purposes. You don't necessarily understand it,

but you come to a place of rest and accept

that things have changed. The journey is one step forward,

or I should say two steps forward and one step backward.

Occasionally you slide about a dozen steps at once and

then regain footing. About a year after my wife's passing,

I felt that pretty well worked through it and accept

what the Lord had for me. This is what I

wrote at that time. It is within one week of

the anniversary of Maryland's homegoing. Grief has been a road,

and I've tried not to find bypasses or shortcuts, but

have tried to face it realistically. It's been a year

of fluctuating emotions all the way from self pity to

determined result, from bitterness to thankfulness, from questioning God's wisdom

to complete joy and peace and his will, from despair

to hope from shattered hopes to acceptance. Ah, now I've arrived.

A week later, that whole thing was shattered when the

actual time of one year had passed. All Right, I

mentioned that I'd like to talk just a little bit

about the grief of a termally ill person, and when

a person comes to the realization that unless there is

a miracle that takes place, they will not live out

there expected days, and they begin to grieve the things

that once they had hoped for but now they would

not experience. Some of you have probably heard me say this,

but I remember Marilyn and I we went into all Mens.

She was getting chemo, and so we had lunch a

little bit that one day, and as we were sitting

there kind of wrapped up on our own thoughts, she

finally said, you know, she says, I'm going to fight

this with all I can because I want to live

to see my grandchildren grandchildren. That was a new thought

to me. Was well, I think her oldest was about

what was it, seventeen At the time, I hadn't even thought,

but she was beginning to grieve the things that she

would never experience. So when when she went to the

doctor's office, and was diagnosed. She told me later, She says,

you know, I felt like I was I was an onlooker,

just observing someone being sentenced to death. And so she

had to drive home eighteen miles to break the news

to her husband or children, her parents, her siblings, or

church family and friends. And yet she was alone with

her thoughts as she drove, and she turned on the

tape play in the car, and the song that came

on was something that really resonated with her that day

and the days to can come. The song He restores

my soul. When I'm low in spirit, I cry, Lord,

lift me up. I want to go high with thee.

But the Lord knows I can't live on the mountain.

So he picked out a valley for me. It's dark

as a dungeon, and the sun seldom shines, and I question, Lord,

why must this be? But he tells me there's strength

in my sorrow, and there's victory in trials for me.

He leads me beside the still waters somewhere in the

valley below. He draws me aside to be tested and tried.

But in the valley he restores my soul. And so

at first I thought that my loss was great. But

you know, as I look back on her life in

those fourteen months, I can see that I try to

be optimistic for her sake, and there was no way

that I met the needs of her heart. I guess

about a probably about a you know, a half A

year after she passed away, I wrote this tonight. I

grieve not so much for my loss as from Maryland's

seeming loss. She's so desired to live. She tried to

overcome her disease, but to no avail. She had much

to live for. It seemed as if she was not

allowed some of the best years of her life. Why

could she not have finished her normal alloted time. Life

is so short, eternity so long. From a human perspective,

it seems as if she shouldn't been able to live

out her days here and still enjoy the ceaseless ages

of eternity. It seems my grief has been selfish thinking

of my loss, when actually she lost many potentially good

years and happy times. I know my thoughts are only mortal.

If she could share with me at this time, I'm

confident she'd have a completely different view. She is enjoying

more of being in the Lord's presence by her early departure.

And so I found as I as I thought about

these things, that I didn't really understand what it was

like to be termally ill. Why I'd never gone through it.

And maybe there's someone here that's going through that I

don't know. But I found that to be true with Maryland.

I found that to be true with Ruth. I found

that to be true with Esther. Shortly before Maryland passed away,

I guess less than a year, all right, less than

a month before she passed away, Florence rop was the

sewing Circle president, I think it was, and she had

asked Maryland to share some things in relation to what

she was facing. And so she wrote up a little

thing for the Lady's Sewing and it said she started

with Psalm one sixteen one. I loved the Lord because

he had heard my voice and my supplication. And she

said a song that became meaningful to her was one

day at a time. And then she had a poem

and I'm going to read this poem and it was,

she said, a poem sent to me and written by

cancer patient. This poem speaks many of my inner thoughts

and turmoil. I wanted to share this with you. I'm

thankful it ends with a note of victory. And there's

things in here that she says, or that this poemwriter

shared that Maryland never shared with me. I didn't know

these things till later. All Right, here we go. Do

you really care when my tears start to flow, when

my faith seems ever so small? Do you really care

when I'm weak, too tired to live? When cancer looms

the biggest of all? Do you really notice when I'm discouraged,

when burdens are too big for me? Would you really

guide if I ask and lead very tenderly? Would you

do all that just for me? Do you really care

when I've cried all night long? Are you watching as

my poor heart breaks? How can I leave these ones

dearest to me when I want to be here for

their sakes? I can't think of leaving my family and friends.

But I know that your ways are always the best.

My faith is strong and my courage is too, And

I know you'll take care of the rest. Oh, I

know you care. How you really do care? For your

love has become real to me. You've lifted my burdens,

you carry my load, and you do it so lovingly.

I'm so grateful Lord for the peace and my heart,

for my health and my life, and for day and

for today, for I've felt your strong hand holding mind

just now, and I'm willing that you have your way.

Thank you Lord, Amen. So I think this poem so

aptly expresses the thought of the grief in leaving family

and friends, and particularly I think it's true in the

case of a mother. I think of my second wife, Ruth.

She was in the hospital for twelve days, and she

was miserable as her tumors increased. And I'd go into

the room in the morning when I to see how

things were going, and there was just something in her look.

She didn't say it, something her look that said, can't

you do something to help me? We both knew I couldn't.

And one morning I went and I had some mail

that had come, some maybe cards of encouragement and so on,

and I was going to read it to her, and

she was so miserable she she didn't even want me

to do that. I think of my daughter esther, and

I know she told us sometimes she says, I have

lived days and I have die days. And she knew

that unless there was a great miracle her, her days

were numbered, and I know that. I guess Eric and

Angie could could fill you in on this. But the

family had a time that day that she passed away,

knowing that she was going to pass away, they had

a time just a family together. What all was shared there,

I don't know. I don't need to know, but I

did hear that she express some feelings of the things

that she's going to miss out in the future. So

those are some of the griefs of a of a

terminal ill person. I'm going to say just a little

bit yet, I guess in relation to the book that

has just come out. The book is entitled an Ongoing Grief,

excuse me, an ongoing Stream, and I want to give

just a little bit of an explanation for that. And

actually that was picked out of something that I had

written in relation to the death of Esther. I'm going

to just read that last paragraph in relation to that.

As the days went by, we experienced a familiar feelings

of grief again, muddled thinking, disorientation, and lack of motivation.

The feelings brought fresh reminders of loved ones we had

lost before. It seemed that by now all our past

losses and grief were connecting into an ongoing stream, and

so my editor said, let's use that for the title

of the book. And that's what's happened. So there's a

lot more that I can say. I hope that this

gives a little idea of the of what grief is,

about how it affects people and so on, and I

trust it what I've said well be an encouragement and

not a discouragement. And so on Wednesday evening then I'd

like to go into the matter of prayer. What do

we expect in prayer in relation to matters of grief?

So thank you for your attention.