Grief visits us all. Perhaps the grief of the day feels small, one drop upon a large pond. Perhaps the grief of the day descends like a sudden storm on a calm lake, upending all in its path. Grief accompanies loss. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ book On Death and Dying details responses to grief:

• • Denial
  • Anger
  • Bargaining
  • Depression
  • Acceptance

 

Each response impacts the fullness of who we are: body, mind, and spirit. Emotions and bodily reactions express the depth of our sorrow. The timeline of grief differs for each of us. Its stages follow no rhyme or reason, imprinting on our day when we least expect it.

 

We face the complexity of emotions while also wondering what to do with our writing life when all of life is off-kilter. During such times, we need to attend to what’s happening within us and reach out to others for support and healing. The grief process has a timeline of its own. It takes as long as it takes.

 

When we wonder what to do with our writing life during seasons of grief, it’s helpful to think of it as a layered process. The image of concentric circles offers one way to approach how to write when grief comes to visit. We start close in, keeping the circle between us and God. Over time, we expand the circle of sharing. We need vast swaths of time and space before we are ready to share our experiences on the page.

 

When grief knocks us down, the temptation comes to immediately share all we are experiencing with everyone we encounter. Yet if that becomes our approach, we find it overwhelming. There’s so much we are experiencing. All of it feels exhausting. There’s wisdom in going slow and choosing to wait.

 

As writers, all situations act as fodder for future writing offerings. Yet in a state of sorrow what we need isn’t to expose every thought. We are raw, barely functioning. Waves of sorrow bowl us over. Uncertainty, restlessness, and lack of appetite become familiar companions, making it hard to think, focus, or remember. We hold our breath. We forget to eat. Sleep doesn’t satisfy the tiredness. Time seems suspended in the prolonged state of mourning.

 

First, I write just for myself. It’s my private place to consider what’s happening within my body, mind, and heart. Next, I permit myself to go slow as I am hurting. Gradually, healing begins to occur. Yet my thoughts still need room to incubate. As my distance from the event, my grasp of what’s happened, and my perspective expands, I venture out to share a few concrete details. My life story may help another person as they journey through the rough patches in their life story. The ache never completely vanishes, yet it does change. We are transformed in the sojourn of sorrow.

 

 

The Concentric Circles Traveled when Writing about Grief

 

Personal Pages

In the quiet of my journal, I pour out my grief. These pages hold all that crosses the mind and heart. They don’t have to make sense. They may include prayers, petitions, laments, and holy wrestlings. Write your emotions. Write your memories. Write your bodily responses. Write your anxiety. Write your disbelief, anger, sadness. Write what feels chaotic or cathartic. You may gain comfort and clarity. You may simply find this as a place to let confusion be an acceptable response. Allow all your pages to become places of conversation within yourself and with God. Romans 8 reminds us that nothing can separate us from the love of God. In these personal pages, not meant for other eyes, we tell Him what stirs within the soul. He hears us and stays ever so near. We are alone with God, finding our way in the bleakness of sorrow.

 

Healing Pages

Having poured out the storm within, I can see better what’s wounded and what needs the kindness of God. It’s a space to attend to my soul. Like personal pages, these are mostly private papers. I may share a few thoughts with a few deeply trusted folks who know me and love me well. I write out prayers that spell out longings and aches. I lament. I ask for intercession among trusted prayerful friends that helps me take my “whys” and “how longs” to God in new ways. Intentional times with professional listeners matter as we heal. Set up times with a counselor, a therapist, a physician, a pastor, and a spiritual director. Bring your pages and  share a few thoughts about how healing is occuring in you. The initial insult stuns. The prolonged grief wears us down. Yet as we write, we begin to see hope. We can feel the ways of healing happen while not dismissing the depth of sorrow. Romans 5 says suffering is a journey full of twists and turns. It changes us as we endure, with God ever by our side.

 

Resting Pages

Here I permit myself to wait, to rest, to be. Sorrow, longings, wrestling, and lament are vital. It’s just as vital to rest, to let things be just part of where I am. There is no hurry here. I’m not trying to “get over” what has happened. I’m not trying to explain it all to myself or someone else. I may share a few thoughts with a few others, yet this is primarily a place of private writing for my well-being in the desert of grief’s land. I’m being still. I’m quieting my heart. I’m letting God hold me. As Psalm 131:2 suggests, we learn how to settle down and find God right alongside us in those moments.

 

Perspective Pages

Rest and time both offer perspective, don’t they? I’ve allowed time and space to give me some emotional distance. I hold the sorrow and begin to see how hope and joy can also coexist with this grief component of my story. I don’t have to grasp it all, yet I don’t have to let it all take me to the bottom of the ocean. I allow new angles to speak to me as I walk around all the dimensions of my grief. In wrestling with God, He offers new perspectives. We see this as we watch Job talk with God. In Genesis 50, we hear Joseph’s vantage point, gained only after years of struggle and growth apart from his family of origin. These pages contain possibilities, problem-solving, and perspective from a new position gained in the journey of grief.

 

Offering Pages

The objectivity of perspective now gives me room to turn and offer my specific story to others. I hold out what has happened in me and around me. I can show how my aches and needs were experienced. I am not sharing every single detail of my entire story of grief. I’m sharing highlights and lowlights so others will know that their path will have lighting, even as there may be moments of thick darkness. In 2 Corinthians 1:3-11, Paul says that we receive comfort from God so that we can turn and be of comfort to others who also experience troubles and sufferings of all kinds. My writing moves into a wider arena to be part of giving my gift  of writing and offering bits of my story to others as a way of ministry and care.

 

Mystery Echoes Pages

There will be moments when questions will return. That’s allowed. These pages, whether private or shared, give room to express trust and doubts. I notice how God continues to transform me amid the ongoing grief and healing. It’s okay to experience loss again in a new way. An anniversary occurs and we revisit the “hows” and “what-ifs.” We ache. We are heard by the God who knows our frame full well as we read in Psalm 139 and Psalm 103. Our good God has compassion on us at every turn of the story. We move from the initial chaos to the hope of the eternal calm that comes from being so very loved and never alone no matter how long and hard the journey of grief. We grow in trust and surrender even as we realize that grief has marked our story and will always have some say in it.

 

 

Keep Writing

Writing about our grief feels long and messy because that’s the way grief is. We start at the center, alone with God, writing out our distress. We wrestle. We question. We heal. We move forward, backward, and sideways. We keep going. We get stuck. We keep growing as we write our grief and find that our tears mingle with Jesus’ tears. We write and our tears of joy mingle with His tears of joy as we heal.

 

Be ever so kind to yourself as you write your grief, beholding how deeply loved you are amid the depth of your sorrow.