THE FIVE GRIEF LANGUAGES

THE FIVE GRIEF LANGUAGES

(bouncing off the five love languages)

Sarah, “… Mom, it is funny; Dad retreats to write, and you clean and cook …”  She made this comment about the different ways we handle grief over the loss of a loved one.  So, off I went to do what?  Let’s meditate and muse and write a memo!  What are the different ways people respond to grief?

1.        Write/meditate.  It helps to sort out feelings and thoughts.  Maybe it begins to make sense of troubles.

2.        Clean/help.  We do it for others to express sympathy.  We do it ourselves as therapeutic toil.

3.        Cook/eat.  The sisters at church pull out their best heart-warming recipes.  We savor the delicious morsels as we try to forget our troubles.  Sometimes, it is the thought that counts?!

4.        Give advice and pat answers.  There is a kernel of truth in most of the pat answers.  And, I am sure that folks mean well as they attempt to apply a verbal salve to some heart ache.  Often, it is best just to listen, IMHO.

5.        Listen/console.  People appreciate you just being there.  The friends of Job were doing great, until they opened their mouths.

6.        Research/RCFA.  Google.  Wiki.  Bing.  Looking for answers, we dig into cyber-consciousness.  Connecting the dots does help, some.

7.        Share experiences.  The tracks of a fellow-struggler can sometimes help as one tries to navigate out of the darkness.  But, it is not one-upmanship.  Everyone’s struggle, though similar, is unique.

8.        FB-post.  A modern aid for an ageless problem, we can use social media to communicate and console.  Friends know.  Friends show their support, their compassion.

9.        Talk-catharsis.  It helps to “get it out” of our heart by getting it out in the open.

10.      Prayer.  This is where it should start.  In the Father’s arms there is peace and a path back.

11.     

THE LOST BOYS

THE LOST BOYS

16 Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time which he had ascertained from the wise men. 17 Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah:

          18 “A voice was heard in Ramah,

          wailing and loud lamentation,

          Rachel weeping for her children;

          she refused to be consoled,

          because they were no more.”     (Matthew 2)

 

                Somewhere in the middle of the heavenly host, assembled around the Throne of God and the Lamb, one angel leans forward and whispers to an archangel, “… who are those little boys in that new balcony?  … there are a couple of dozen of them, smiling, and waving their tiny hands at the King!  … but, who are they?!”  The archangel hushed him, and whispered, “…that’s the Bethlehem Balcony…”

                Down below, in time and space, a couple dozen heart-broken mothers meet in a support group they call the “M.O.B.” – mothers of Bethlehem.  One of the mothers, Hannah, clears her throat and begins the meeting, saying, “… it has been several years now, but I cannot close my eyes without seeing the soldiers kicking open doors – the screams, the crying babies, the helpless distress …”  

Another, Ruth, breaks in, “…it must have been how the mother of Moses, Jochabed, felt, waiting for the Nile crocodiles …”  

Sarah angrily interrupts, sobbing, “… yeah, but her boy was saved; mine was smashed against the wall by that brute soldier …”  

The room falls into a hushed silence filled with quiet sobs.  Elizabeth hesitantly broke the  silence, whispering, “I heard that one got away?!  They did not get them all?”

Anna added, “I remember them; they came for the census that Herod had…”  Several mothers, in unison, spit on the floor at the mention of the name of Herod.

Naomi cried, “I remember that demon, Herod; he even killed three of his own sons – what a mad man!”

Anna continued, “…but, I remember them; they came down from Galilee, and stayed for a while.  Their baby was born in the stables.  Bethlehem was full of outsiders that week and the only inn was full.  They stayed for a while, even after most folks went home – new baby delayed them, I guess?!  The shepherds still talk about that baby.”

Miriam interjected, “…yeah, those Magi showed up, left, then came the soldiers!”

Sarah angrily added, “…yes, their baby was the one Herod was looking for – something about ‘king of the Jews’ like Micah the prophet said?  All I know is that he is the one that got my baby boy killed!  And, I even bought some tables that were made by that carpenter; Joseph was his name?!”

The angel continued to stare at the new balcony in the Throne Room.  He could not fathom the joy and laughing coming from the alcove.  Then he watched as the Lamb stood and waved back to the boys.  Then, the Lamb arose and was in their balcony, holding them and singing to them!  They had a special, unexplainable bond.

On a trip to Jerusalem, decades later, Sarah met a quiet, serene lady and questioned, “…you are her!?  You are the mother of the boy Herod wanted to kill?  But, he killed my boy – and yours got away!  It is so unfair!  My baby died so that yours could live?!  It is so unfair!”

Mary, sadly, but excitedly said, “No, my son died so that you can live; let me tell you about my son, Jesus”

Sarah gasped, “…your son was the one they took to Golgotha?!”

Mary sat and explained the whole story, remembering and rehearsing what Isaiah had said so long ago!  Sarah cried; but, it was a new cry, a cry for joy over the risen King!

Sarah went back to Bethlehem and joined the group of believers there.  One Sunday, she donated a table which she had bought years ago, from the carpenter.  “Please take it and use it for the Eucharist table,” Sarah pleaded, adding “I bought it from Joseph, years ago.  I had two, but I sold the other one to some fellow in Jerusalem who wanted it for his upper room…”

And, somewhere in Heaven, the boys lost in Bethlehem smile in peace and purity and perfection.  And, their Brother smiles back at them. 

HE’D HAD ENOUGH

HE’D HAD ENOUGH

                His mama held my wife in a long hug, at the visitation.  Standing next in line, I looked into the casket, into the face of his dad, into the void.  Then I heard his mom whisper to my wife, repeatedly, “… we’ve made it through two days; we’ll make it through…” 

                Yesterday morning, the garbage collectors noticed his lifeless body as they worked their route for the day.  The police came.  Family came.  Their boy had “had enough”.  Maybe it was thoughtful to end it on the day he’d be quickly found?!  He had sat down in his back yard and left this world.  Now they stood near his casket and greeted well-wishers.

                How does one make sense of such?  For over two decades he had watched his body waste away with some nameless, crippling disease.  “Normal” was not a part of his brief adult life – no wife, no children, no job, no …

                I am twelve years further down the road, but had known him, through church.  I had been in his parents’ home for a couple of Christmas church parties.  I got his gift one year in the “dirty-santa” gift exchange, a nice, pecan pie.  Once, I made a two-hour trip with him to a church men’s retreat near Montgomery.  We talked and laughed there and back.

                Mike spoke haltingly and with stuttering jerks.  His mind was way ahead of his mouth desperately trying to keep up.  And his walk was similar.  The athlete’s body was still in there somewhere.  But, he could not quite break the huddle as he once could.

                I called a friend to confirm the rumor at the mill that Mike was gone when I first heard it.  We talked and he asked, “… what do you say?”  I remembered Psalm 103:14 – “He knows our situation…”  God, help us!

DEATH IS COMING

DEATH IS COMING

                Jeff and Josh decided that they would visit their triplet brother, since he had to work on their birthday.  They rode down the long road to his bridge operator house, and went in to drink coffee with John, and enjoy some time together.  They laughed as they retold and relived, in their minds, childhood exploits.  The three brothers had been little fire-brands.  They still loved to laugh and lived life fully.

                Through his window, Jeff saw smoke blowing, with embers sparkling in the wind, from across the bridge that crossed the river chasm in the distance.  They ran outside to see hundreds of people scrambling on to the RR tracks from everywhere, running toward them, trying desperately to escape the forest fire blazing behind them.  Some were already at the bridge, screaming to John to let down the bridge. 

                Jeff and Josh watched as John repeatedly pushed the button that let down the bridge.  But, the switch was not working.  Josh, an electrician quickly located the cause of the malfunction – rats had chewed apart the power cord, outside, leading to the bridge trestle motor.  With a ladder, Josh could almost pull together the two separated cable ends.

                Then, Jeff’s face got ashen and asked if they could hear in the distance the whistle of a long, black train, barreling toward the RR bridge control light.  They looked at each other, and whispered, in unison, “death is coming.”  John knew that if he let down the bridge, the red light up the track would go off.  Josh knew he did not have time to splice the cable.  Jeff took off running up the track, hoping to stop the train before it got past the point of no-return.  He yelled wildly and waved his hands.

                Josh looked sternly at John, through the window of the control room, and mouthed the words, “you have to do it” as he barehanded grabbed the two cable ends, completing the circuit.  John, with tears filling his eyes, pushed the button to lower the bridge.  Josh lit up the sky! 

                The bridge creaked downward, and the people, with bewildered looks, ran across to safety.  Some collapsed, in exhaustion, with their little ones in their arms.  With smoke filled lungs, many of the people ran up the tracks to warn the train they heard approaching in the distance.  Many jumped to safety.  Others just laughed and raised their drinks in a toast to the joke, as the train sped on around the curve.

                But, it was no joke.  And, many began to ask who lit the fire?  Others wanted to know why John put down the bridge and let the train barrel ahead!  But, John just stared at the top of the ladder.