The Garden of Grief: When New Life Blooms

 The Garden – When New Life Begins to Bloom

      Grief often feels like scorched earth, like life has been burned to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes.  Those once fruitful fields, bearing joy and happiness are laid waste to nothing.  Ashes replace where joy once sprouted.  The smell of smoke and decay fills your nostrils, almost making you sick. Your path is now one laid in memories.  As a widower, I've walked through those charred places of my heart, wondering if anything beautiful could ever grow again. I felt this preemptively as I watched my precious wife fight cancer.  Imagine being a farmer, watching your crops die but knowing that there was nothing you could do to save them.  That is how I felt about Tif's cancer battle.  I could love her, fight for her, cheer for her, encourage her, pray with her, stay with her, but I couldn't save her.  Now I find that the soil of loss feels hard, barren, and unyielding at times.  It's one of the worst places to find yourself.  It is a lonely, barren wasteland.  You don't walk through a proverbial valley of the shadow of death, you have found the valley as a place of your residence.  

      BUT GOD.  Those two simple words have been a life preserver to me at times.  But God is the author of my story, He is the keeper of my soul, the director of my path.  Scripture reminds me that "those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy (Psalm 126:5).  That is a promise directly from the mouth of God.  Even in the darkest of seasons, God plants seeds.  They might seem small, even mustard seed sized, often unseen, sometimes very unexpectedly, but they rest quietly beneath the surface.  Seeds of resilence.  Seeds of compassion.  Seeds of hope.  Seeds of reborn love.

      In my grief I started to notice that my tears were not wasted, but they had a purpose.  They watered the ground of my heart, softening the hardened soil.  Those tears of hurt haven't stopped, they still continue, but those tears have been powerful.  They helped me to be honest with God, but they also helped break up the fallow ground.  Those tears watered and all of a sudden tiny sprouts came to life.  They started breaking through the soil, stretching toward the sun.  No longer were the fields filled with death and decay.  No longer was the image hopeless.  The sprouts renewed my tenderness toward others who suffer, namely men who are quietly agonizing in the night, struggling to be honest with their grief.  It gave me a deeper gratitude for moments that I used to overlook.  It gave me a longing for eternity that keeps my gaze lifted toward heaven.  

      One of the most unexpected seeds that sprang forth was new love.  I shouldn't have been surprised.  It was my wife's constant prayer that I would have a new spouse that would love and care for me and the kids.  We talked about it, she prepared me for it, but when it came, it totally caught me off guard.  I needed to determine if it was my feelings, my fear,  my loneliness, or faith.  I didn't want to be rash, I didn't want my grief to dictate my decisions.  I wanted to follow Christ with whatever He laid before me.  And while sitting in the sackcloth and ashes I found someone sitting beside me, a person whose life was also scorched by grief.  I found someone weeping in the night, just like me.  I found someone who understood my hurt and loss.  I found someone who saw me, heard me, and felt that same pain that I was enduring.  I found someone who was committed to follow Christ through her grief.  I found someone who loved the Lord...and quickly loved me and my family.  My Les came out of left field, scratch that, she was a heaven sent gift.  I could not have contrived or written such a story.  Hallmark would make a fortune from our love story (at least it would be an original story).  In the middle of the barreness a new plant burst forth from the soil.  A plant that was similiar but different.  It wasn't a replacement for Tif, it was an addition to her.  A plant that was so vibrant.  It stood in stark contrast to the ashes that leveled the ground.  A plant that was prayed for, pleaded for, and a plant that I appreciate with all my heart.  A plant that I treasure and will fight for.  A plant that I love for so deeply, completely, and wholly.  A plant that loves me and the complexity of bearing grief while love comes pushing through.

      Now I want to be clear, these new things that have been growing doesn't remove the ache, I still miss my old garden, but I love my new garden.  It looks very different.  It has changed my priorities, my mission, my calling, and provided me with a new love.  These new plants take time, just like a new garden.  A garden demands patience, care, and attention, and so does the healing of my heart and the pursuit of new things.  Loving a widow/widower can be complex.  We have heavy days, we have days when we are confused, we have days that are marked by more tears then smiles.  But what a joy to honor a widow/widower as they love.  The weeds of bitterneness and doubt have been pulled (and continue to be pulled), the soil of my heart still being tilled by prayer, and the seeds of God's promises causing great rejoicing.  I am reaping the growth from my tears.  The night has been long, but I long for the morning.

      Sadly, one day the barren place will surprise you.  The feeling that I bear will be yours one day.  But let me share my heart, what once looked lifeless will hold blossoms of beauty.  Not the same as before, but perhaps deeper, richer, and more fragrant with grace.  God will use the soil of my grief for His glory.  He will continue to plant hope where sorrow rests.  He will help me to trust that even in the ashes, that He is bringing forth new life....and that He will make all things news.