When Grief Makes You Weary

When the calendar flipped to the new year, I didn’t feel that usual burst of inspiration to do all the “new year” things. You know, like organizing my pantry or making resolutions of improvements I want to make in my life or creating a wish list of books to read in 2023. I didn’t get out my calendar and make plans for the future. In fact, just the thought of setting a goal or making a resolution made me weary.

I know not everyone is into making goals at the start of the new year. And I know not everyone likes to organize their life or plan ahead, but I do. So when I wasn’t motivated to do so, I had to pause and consider why that might be.

Then I remembered. Grief.

The past year for me—actually, the past few years, if I’m honest—was filled with losses, both big and small. Some loss was hard to define, like when I closed the chapter on many years as a homeschooling parent. Other losses felt confusing, like when my son left home for college and I felt a mixture of sadness for me and happiness for him. And then there was the most recent loss of my father back in November, a loss which really began the year before when we first learned he had Alzheimer’s and then had to spend a year watching him fade away.

The truth is, grief, in all its forms, is tiring. It makes even simple, everyday responsibilities challenging. It’s like slogging through squishy mud where your shoes get sucked in with each step. Activities that you usually complete without a thought all of a sudden require significant work. You are physically and emotionally drained. Spent by the smallest efforts.

It was helpful for me to realize this and to acknowledge that I am not super-human. After a series of losses, I can’t expect to just carry on as usual. I need to take time to rest. I need to acknowledge what I have lost and work through them.

One recent morning, I read in Psalm 119: “I am weary from grief, strengthen me through your word” (Psalm 119:28, CSB). The psalmist is a long time companion for me and he often reminds me of what is true. The psalm doesn’t describe the situation which brought the psalmist grief. Was it grief over the loss of a loved one? Grief over personal sin? Over something happening in the nation as a whole? Grief over the hard circumstances of his life? Whatever the reason, the psalmist resonates with my own heart: grief is tiring. But he then reminds me that strength is available; it’s found in the word of God.

Throughout the Bible, God speaks to those who are weary and promises them rest. He doesn’t tell them to get their act together or just “get over” their circumstances. He doesn’t call them to self-rescue. Instead, he invites them to find rest in himself. He promises life and strength through communion with him. He feeds and sustains his people by his word. Even more, the word of God breathes life into the dead spaces of our lives. This is good news for those who are weary from grief.

I can’t help but think of Ezekiel and the Valley of Dry Bones. God brought Ezekiel to a valley scattered with bones. Ezekiel describes the bones as “very many” and “very dry.” There is no life to be found in them. I can only imagine what such a valley looked like. God asks him, “Son of man, can these bones live?” (Ez. 37:3). God then gives him words to speak, to prophecy over the bones and at his words, an amazing thing happens. The bones return to life! Ezekiel watches as the bones come together with great rattling. Then sinew. flesh, and skin come upon them. God then tells him to, “Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they may live” (Ez. 37:9). Just like at creation when God spoke and life began, Ezekiel speaks the words of the Lord and life is resurrected; the bones return to life. From barrenness comes new birth; from emptiness comes fullness; from sadness comes great joy.

This story in Ezekiel points to the way the Spirit breathes life into our dead souls so that we can respond in faith to the call of the gospel. And it’s a reminder of the power of God’s word in all the lifeless spaces of our lives. It’s good news for the weary and faint of heart. It’s good news for those who grieve.

May the psalmist’s prayer be our prayer as well: “I am weary from grief, strengthen me through your word.” Like the psalmist, we can engage with God in our grief and cry out to him in our weariness. We can ask him to renew our strength. We can pray for resurrection in our own valleys of dry bones. And as we encounter him through the Scripture, we can expect great things. For the One who spoke and said “Let there be light” will bring light to rise upon the darkness of our days. He will bring new life. He will strengthen the weary heart.

Photo by Marcus Ganahl on Unsplash

What the Gospel Says to Those Who Suffer

He’s forgotten how to walk.

This thought hit me as I gripped by father’s arm and urged him forward across the living room. I found myself instructing him: Push down on your cane. Lift your foot. Put it down. Push down on your cane again. As we approached the chair he wanted to sit in, I again coached him through the steps required for him to turn around and sit back into the chair safely.

Later, he turned to me and asked, “What is your name?”

“Christina,” I responded. “What your name?” I asked in return.

He paused and with a bit of hesitation, told me his name. I smiled and nodded.

I handed him the photo book I gave him for Christmas last year. The one that had pictures of my family with our names and facts about us. It includes photos of my boys, one in his football uniform, the other in his cross country uniform. He keeps the album next to his chair to flip through when he wants to remember something.

It wasn’t an hour later that he shared with me a memory of visiting me where we used to live in Florida. He described the neighborhood and details about our house. But then another hour later, he was staring off into space, lost in world of his own.

My husband and I made this trip after learning that my father’s Alzheimer’s had worsened and my mother needed help. It made matters worse that hurricane Ian had just whipped through Florida and the power was out everywhere. On our drive down the interstate, we past one power truck after another, pickups pulling large generators, and disaster response teams. They were all headed to meet the needs of people after a horrific storm.

We were headed to see how we could help in my parent’s personal storm.

Alzheimer’s is everything you hear about and more. It’s as heartbreaking as you can imagine. It is debilitating. It causes confusion and fear. Most of all, it’s a thief, first of treasured memories, then of basic life skills. It’s like taking apart a puzzle, one piece at a time. But not in any kind of order; rather, in a random sort of way. The picture retains its outer shape, but the inside has holes scattered throughout. Those holes only get bigger and bigger.

Until there’s no picture left at all.

I have to believe that the gospel has something to say to those suffering the wretched horror of Alzheimer’s or every other disease we experience in life. It has to say something to those who find themselves at death’s waiting room, not knowing when their name will be called. It has to say something to those who care for the suffering, who pour themselves out day and night to meet the needs of a loved one who can’t do for themselves anymore.

The gospel has to speak to those who suffer.

And it does. In fact the entire Bible is the story of a God who cared about his people’s suffering so much, he entered into time and history in order to do something about it. Whenever I experience personal suffering and I need to preach the gospel to my heart, to remind myself of who God is and what he has done and why that matters in the dark moments of life, I always return to the beginning of the story. In returning to the beginning, we are reminded that diseases such as Alzheimer’s find their origins in the fall of man, for when God created the world, there was no illness. There was no decay. Our first parent’s bodies worked as they were created to. They had no aches or pains—no disease that ravaged and destroyed the bodies God had made. Their lives were complete and whole. It wasn’t until that moment in the garden where Adam and Eve broke God’s law and ate from the Tree that sin then entered the world, and along with it, sickness and death.

All disease traces its roots back to that day. That’s why we are right to grieve the physical illnesses and pains of life, because they do not belong; they are not part of God’s original creation.

But God showed his grace to our parents that day when he found them attempting to hide from him, ashamed of what they had done. God not only covered their sin and shame, but he also made a promise, what theologians call the proto-evangelium—the first gospel. In Genesis 3:15, God promised a rescuer, one who would go up against Satan and defeat him—one who would rescue us from the wretched curse of sin and death.

Jesus came to fulfill that promise. He came to conquer sin and death. He came to break the curse of sin that separates us from the One who made us. And he did so through his perfect life and sacrificial death on our behalf. The gospel assures those who suffer that our Savior suffered for us so that we will not suffer for all eternity. He made us right with God so that now, through faith in Christ, we have the assurance of eternity forever in a place where there is no more sin, sickness, or sorrow. We are cleansed from sin, forgiven, and made new creations. Because Jesus rose from the grave, he ensured our own resurrection at the last day. On that day, we will have bodies that are whole and complete, free from sin, and free from the ravages of illness and disease. What a glorious thing to imagine!

The gospel not only gives us hope for the future, but it also gives us hope right now in the present. It tells us that our Savior knows our pain; he knows our suffering. The Bible calls him the “Man of Sorrows.” “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed” (Is. 53:4-5). The author to the Hebrews says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (4:15-16). We have a compassionate Savior who knows what life is like in a fallen world. He calls us to come to the throne and bear our lay our burdens before him. And he promises grace and help in our time of need.

Even more, when he left to return to the Father, Jesus sent his Spirit who now lives within his people. The Spirit fills us with hope as he reminds us of God’s word, as he counsels and comforts our weary hearts, as he equips and enables us to do the work we are called to, and as he transforms us into the image of Christ. We have the very Spirit of Christ living within us. The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead is at work in our hearts. It is this Spirit who even now prays for us when we are too weary to pray for ourselves. “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (Rom. 8:26-27).

Over the past year, my parents’ days were reduced to the square feet of their house, where the routine was consistent, making life predictable and safe for my dad. One routine was their evening Bible study where my mom read aloud to my dad. I don’t know how much it impacted him in recent weeks as his disease worsened, but I pray that the words of life and the promises of God’s grace for him in Christ—words he’s heard his whole life—brings comfort and peace as he enters into another stage of his disease.

It was hard to see my father so debilitated. I felt helpless. It grieved my heart. It’s not right for a child to instruct a parent in how to do the basic things of life. It reverses the natural order of things. In those moments of helplessness, I just kept praying, “Father, please provide.” He did and I know he will continue to do so. My father is now in a long term care facility where he will receive the care he needs—until the day when he meets his Savior face to face.

Life in this fallen world is hard. It’s painful. It’s filled with sorrow. But for those who trust in Christ, we do not grieve as those who have no hope. For our hope is found in a person, our Savior, who suffered on our behalf, and who will one day return to take away our suffering once and for all.

Father in heaven, I pray for all those who are wounded by the effects of life in this fallen world, whose bodies betray them by sickness and disease. The sorrow and fear they feel is great and at times just as debilitating as the disease. And just as great for those who provide care. I pray that you would comfort the hurting with your perfect love. I pray you would shower your grace upon them, that they would know the depths of your love for them. That you would be with them. That you would sustain them and carry them. Until that day when Jesus returns to make all things new. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Photo by Dominik Scythe on Unsplash