When we travel the journey of grief, the familiar can become unfamiliar, even unrecognizable. Relationships can be put on hold (though sometimes because we don't recognize the love that surrounds us), our bodies respond differently than before (energy levels, appetite, sleep, general health) and our emotions often become, at best, a wild ride through some very dark and gloomy waters. Even God (our beliefs, values and sources of strength) is different. For some, even the ability to believe in anyone or anything is stretched to impossibility, for a long time, maybe even forever.Sorrow can be a very deep hole, deepened by our perceived loss of that sense of connection. For many it is about despair, fear and hopelessness. For others, a sense of sadness and futility. It may be less severe for many, but it is still there. For all of us still wrestle with the essential questions of life and meaning.Why did this happen?Why did this happen now?What will happen to me?How will I live now?Do I want to go on living?What do I need to do now?These are the questions of life and grief, as old as the ancient psalms and as fresh as this morning's first cup of coffee. What does all of this mean for you and me? The answer (and it isn't really an answer, but a choice, a hunch, a moving through the journeys of grief and of faith all twisted and turned together)is in connecting to myself, my story and my God . . . it is faith, our ability to believe and trust in the outcomes or blessings of even one's suffering, that brings us through our sorrow to a renewed sense of hope.My beliefs help me identify where I am, who I am, where I am going, and how I will get there. Healthy spirituality never dodges the tough bullets of grief. It never diminishes my worth and never dismisses my feelings. My relationship with God leaves me plenty of time and space to wander and to ponder. There is room to be angry, with the encouragement to receive anger's gift rather than be seduced by its rage. I can connect with my guilt, yet welcome forgiveness that restores. My loneliness is embraced through religious community or context, ritual, sacrament and prayer (or whatever fits with your traditions). Grief's anonymity ("Doesn't anyone understand?") is embraced by a God sometimes perceived to be distant and inaccessible, who still knows me by name!
