Good Grief

Good Grief

      One of my favorite cartoons growing up was "Peanuts."  Who couldn't fall in love with Snoopy as he battled the Red Baron, or the search for the Great Pumpkin, or the moment that Linus left his blanket behind to share the story of Christ's birth, or my personal favorite, the wonderful Thanksgiving meal including popcorn, toast, and jelly beans.  Charlie had a famous quote throughout the series, “Good grief!” Charlie Brown said it so effortlessly—usually when life is a tangle of problems he didn't know how to solve. It’s a phrase we chuckle at, but it also carries a surprising truth: grief is tangled. It’s messy, confusing, frustrating, and exhausting.  Not only that, but it is an inescapable human experience.  And for many people, especially at Christmas, grief feels even heavier. Traditions feel different. Memories feel louder. The empty chair at the table seems to glow with its own painful spotlight.  The weight of loss seems more difficult to bear during what should be the most jolly of seasons.

      But what if Charlie Brown’s exasperated little phrase is more profound than we realize?  What if, in God’s hands, there really is such a thing as good grief?  Can grief be good?  Doesn't the Bible promise that God does all things for His glory and our good?  What good can grief bring about in our life?  What kind of grief is 'good?'  Not grief that is pleasant, but grief that is purposeful.  Not grief that brings smiles, but grief that brings growth.  Not grief that feels good, but grief through which God can bring good.

      My first lesson with grief is that God stepped into my grief.  He wasn't repulsed by it.  Christmas is powerful because it reminds us that God didn’t stay distant from human pain. He stepped into it.  John wrote that Word that became flesh dwelt among us, and that the same Savior would be the lamb of God to take away our sin.  Matthew wrote “And they will call him Immanuel—which means, God with us (Matthew 1:23)."  Jesus didn’t arrive in a palace or in comfort.  For that matter Jesus didn't even arrive in a home. He came into a world that knew heartbreak, disappointment, loss, and grief. He came as a Savior who would walk dusty roads with grieving people, sit with the brokenhearted, and even weep at a graveside (John 11:35). Christmas shows us that God isn’t intimidated by our grief. He’s present in it.  Do me a favor, read that statement again.  Our grief might shake us but it will never shake a faithful God.  This means your grief is not a sign that God is absent, it’s an invitation to experience Him more closely.  And invitation that asks us how we will respond.

      Grief never feels good, but it can produce good. As painful as it is, grief is one of the places where the Holy Spirit does deep, quiet, transformative work.  One 'good' that came from my sorrow is that I found that it strengthened my faith.  When everything started to fall through my fingers, when my dreams of a future laid in rubble, then I clung to God as I have never done before. We learn that His presence is not a cliché—it’s oxygen.

      I also found that grief created space for healing.  That might sound like an oxymoron, but it's true.  It's hard to imagine that which is creating such pain can also be an instrument of our healing at the same time.  We often try to outrun our pain, but grief slows us down. It makes us face what is real. And God can only heal what we’re willing to bring into the light.  The Psalmist wrote that God heals the broken in heart and binds up their wounds.  God alone can heal.

    Grief also brings us to another unusual juxtaposition.   It divides us from the close proximity of the people we loved, but it also draws us closer to Jesus.  Jesus understands sorrow intimately. Isaiah 53:3 has become one of my personal anchor verses.  He writes that Jesus is “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” When we grieve, we are walking a road He has already walked—and He promises to walk it with us.  I have found my Savior closest to me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  I have found that He has an unrelenting love when the lights of joy and happiness are dim.  I have found Him holding me in an empty bed for over one year.  He has been sweet and gentle.

      One of the unique burdens that grief has been me in the last year has been relating to people who are hurting but without the hope of the Gospel.  Widower, especially young ones feel increasingly isolated and in despair.  A large majority make poor, rash, emotional decisions,  some of them tragically taking their life.  I have always worked with people that were grieving, but they were speaking a foreign language that I didn't understand.  Now I sit with others in the fox hole of grief.  We are determined to fight alongside one another.

      Another 'good' lesson from grief is that it has helped me to cherish the hope of Christmas.  Yes, I have held to the hope of Christmas for many years, but the loss of Tiffanie and the progression of pressing foward has caused me to see the hope of the Christmas story in a real, more personal way.  The manger only matters because the world was broken. The arrival of Jesus is good news because our hearts were hurting in the first place. Grief makes the message of Christmas shine even brighter.  John reminds us that the light has come. And that darkness does not win.

      Grief can also offer some difficult, but necessary gifts during the holiday season.  They aren't the gifts we might have asked for nor expected.  For many grievers, Christmas becomes a bittersweet season—filled with warm memories but also aching hearts. Yet even here, God offers subtle gifts such as a memory that reminds you your loved one, or a worship song that brings tears but also comfort.  For me personall I find scripture that feels alive in a way it never did before.  Or yet another, a deeper longing for the day God wipes every tear from our eyes (Revelation 21:4).  These gifts don’t remove pain.  This isn't some kind of spiritual white elephant gift exchange where we try to get rid of the junk from our basement, but instead they do remind us that grief is not pointless. God is working even in the shadows.

      So, if this season feels heavy, take heart. Grieving doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’re human. Grief is not the enemy; isolation is. Let God draw near. Let people support you. Let yourself feel what you feel without shame.  Let me share some practical ways that you can find comfort during this Christmas season:

• Make space for both joy and sorrow. It’s okay to celebrate and cry on the same day.  They are not contrary.
• Honor your loved one. Light a candle, hang a special ornament, or write them a letter.
• Slow down and breathe. Even Jesus withdrew from crowds to rest.
• Lean on Scripture. Passages like Psalm 34:18 (“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted”) can anchor you.  This verse has been interwoven through almost every blog post that I've made.
• Remember that hope is not lost. Jesus came so grief would not have the final word.

      “Good grief” may sound like a cartoon catchphrase said by a beagle loving, yellow and black shirt wearing character, but in Christ, it becomes a spiritual reality. God can take the hardest parts of our story and use them to shape us, strengthen us, and draw us closer to Him. Christmas proves it. Because the birth of Jesus is the ultimate reminder that God brings His best work from the hardest places.

      So if you are grieving this Christmas, know this: Your grief is seen.  Your tears are noticed. Your heart is held.  You have a friend in me who will walk the whole way with you. And the God who came in the night still brings light into every dark place.